Avelynn (37 page)

Ealhswith hung back and waited until the others had been satisfactorily sated in my performance.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Much better than I was.”

She shook her head. “I don't believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“This.” She waved her hand, encompassing the room. “After all that has happened, how can you just lie there and accept this?” She locked her arms across her chest and glared at me.

I nodded my chin toward Adiva. “I've changed my mind.” I shrugged. “Nothing left to fight about.”

Ealhswith narrowed her eyes at Adiva, who sat on one of the chairs in the corner, embroidering a strip of silk. I followed her gaze. Long, auburn curls obscured her pale face as she bent forward. She couldn't have been more than fourteen. I wondered what Demas was threatening her with. Since she'd had the misfortune of seeing Edward alive, I suspected she wouldn't live to see the day after the wedding.

Father Anlaf bustled into the room and opened the shutters on the small window. The steady fire in the hearth snatched greedily at the fresh air. “Foul vapors carry disease,” he admonished Adiva. “This window must be opened twice daily.” Small, round, and dismal, he shooed her out. “Go fetch more cloths for your mistress's back.”

She hesitated, looking from me to Ealhswith.

He frowned at her. “Go on.”

She curtsied and left the room.

He turned his pointed glare to Ealhswith.

“I'll be staying,” she said firmly.

Unable to tell the king's sister-in-law to leave, he nonetheless brusquely removed her from the bedside.

“How is my patient this afternoon?”

“Healing, unfortunately.”

He ignored the bitterness in my voice and rolled me over. As if uncovering one of his precious relics, he gently removed layers of bandage. When he got down to the skin, I could hear Ealhswith inhale sharply.

“'Tis not a place for a lady.”

“I will stay with my friend.”

He mumbled under his breath but continued about his work, poking and prodding the scarred and healing flesh.

“Dear God, Avelynn, it's a wonder you're still alive,” she said quietly.

“Father Anlaf is to be credited for my current state of well-being.”

“I will personally see to it that the monastery at Wimborne receives a generous gift from the king,” she said in a low whisper.

This perked him up immeasurably. “A most gracious offer, my lady. May Christ reward you.”

Adiva shuffled in with a basket full of cloth strips.

“I meant to tell you of a dream I had a fortnight ago,” Ealhswith said, moving to the other side of the bed. She sat beside me. “A magnificent eagle landed upon my windowsill. He whispered in my ear where to find unfathomable treasure. He told me I was to rescue a beautiful maiden held ransom by a terrible dragon.”

I turned my head and stared at her. Alrik?

“He flew away, perching high atop the mast of a merchant ship. It had the most striking red sail with a raven emblazed on the fabric.”

Raven's Blood!
My lower lip trembled. Gods, she had seen him, talked to him.

“Did you rescue the maiden?” Father Anlaf asked.

“No.” She wrapped her hands around mine. “By the time I got there, some dark and sinister creature had gotten to her first.”

“A dream to pray on, for sure,” he said, looking up at her. “The Devil may be tempting you with material wealth, my lady. Perhaps you should add a personal donation to the Church yourself, to cleanse your soul.”

“A considerate suggestion, Father. Thank you.”

I squeezed her hand. “I fear the dragon has killed the eagle.” Pain clenched my stomach, and tears sprang from a well, dark and deep.

“Nonsense,” Anlaf said gruffly. “You are upsetting my patient, lady, with your fanciful talk. I ask you to leave.”

“I'm sorry, Father,” she said, and stood up. “I'll wait at the table until you're finished.”

“Thank you, Ealhswith … for trying,” I said.

Her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, and she nodded.

Anlaf glared. Ealhswith frowned, but dutifully sat beside Adiva at the large table, her hands resting in mock contrition.

He clicked his tongue and went about his ministrations undisturbed. Scooping out some paste, he plastered my wounds with the thick salve. The herbs he used were pungently aromatic. I wondered what he was using and sighed. Muirgen would have known.

When he finished, he had me stand. I raised my arms, and he walked around me, winding me tight with the cloth strips. I felt like I was being encased in my death shroud, readied for burial, which I decided was only fitting. Life as I knew it would end tonight with the priest's “amen.” Everything to this point—the loss of my parents, the loss of Alrik, the torture—all of it had been a fairy tale compared to what would come after I was married. I felt dead inside. After the “amen,” my hell would begin.

Satisfied with his care, Anlaf straightened his rough woolen robe. “You will be able to stand at your wedding tonight.”

Unbeknownst to him, I had been standing and walking a bit each day in an attempt to regain my strength. Going into my nuptials weak and immobile didn't appeal to me in the least.

He smiled broadly. Bushy brown eyebrows crested squinting little eyes. “Lord Demas will be pleased with your recovery.”

“What's this? I believe I've heard my name,” Demas called, entering the room.

“My lord.” Father Anlaf bowed his head. “I was just mentioning to the lady that I believe her strong enough to stand for the ceremony.” Anlaf lent me his hand and helped me back to the bed.

“Wonderful,” Demas said, resting his hand on the monk's shoulder. “I cannot begin to thank you for your kind treatment of the mistress Avelynn.”

“No trouble at all. I am happy to do God's will.” He inclined his head and scampered out.

Demas bowed in a courtly flourish. “Lady Ealhswith, how lovely to see you again. I trust you have assured yourself of your friend's good treatment.”

Ealhswith stood and placed herself bodily between the bed and Demas's smiling eyes. “I don't know what you're up to, Demas, but if anything should happen to Avelynn, I will personally ensure the king takes a vested interest in you. I doubt very much you will appreciate his scrutiny.”

“What do I have to fear? You can see for yourself that she is being treated with the very best care. She is certainly not wanting.”

Ealhswith leaned in closer to Demas, her voice a low whisper. “The lady Muirgen told me everything.”

He straightened the gold brooch that held his cloak in place. “Many things revealed at the tribunal were not based in fact. Avelynn herself has recanted all her accusations.”

Ealhswith narrowed her eyes at me. I merely shrugged my agreement.

She turned back to Demas. “Know, sir, that I will be watching you.”

“I welcome the attention from such a beautiful lady.” He bowed.

“We'll talk further, Avelynn,” she promised, and stormed out.

Demas looked at the empty doorway for a moment before nodding to Adiva, who curtsied her way backward out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Your friend is troublesome.” He rubbed his neatly trimmed beard with the back of his fingers.

“Might be hard to threaten the sister-in-law to the king,” I said pointedly.

He smiled. “Everyone has a weakness, everyone a price.” He looked me over carefully. “The ceremony will start in two hours. Adiva is bringing you a basin to wash.” He walked to the door. “I've had a dress brought in from Francia for you. Try not to sully it.”

When he left, I closed my eyes, preparing myself for a perpetual state of misery, but the loud croak of a raven caught my attention. I blinked at the vision in front of my eyes. Sitting on the sill plate of the open window, the raven fluffed its glossy black feathers until its neck resembled a puffy mane. It croaked again, its thoughtful eyes regarding me, and then flew away. If only I could transform into a bird and soar through the window. My heart fluttered. I scanned the room. I was alone! I looked at the window carefully. I could certainly fit through it without problem. But where would I go? I wondered where Demas was holding Edward. Would I be able to find him? My strength had returned, but how far could I get before Adiva sounded the alarm?

As if on cue, my thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the talebearer herself. Holding an exquisite white clay basin with intricate green twining vines, she smiled weakly. “It's time to get ready for your wedding, my lady.”

*   *   *

The ceremony would be held in Demas's great hall. There were no decorations, nothing to belie a woman's touch. Stark and open, the benches were pushed against the wall. Guests stood in one somber mass, patiently waiting for the ceremony to end and the feasting to begin.

Dressed in a bright green tunic that set his hazel eyes swimming in a sea of deep green, his hair as shiny and slick as an otter's pelt, Demas looked every inch an affluent, gallant gentleman. I, in my white gown, shimmering with silver thread and accented with freshwater pearls, my long blond hair flowing softly down my back, looked every inch his opulent lady.

Archbishop Aldulf joined our hands together and placed a silk band over top. In his nasal drone, he intoned the words that would bind me to Demas forever. I thought of Edward, of his short life, and my part in his death. Dutifully, I repeated, “I take thee, Demas, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, to be bonny and buxom in bed and in board, till death do us part, and thereto plight thee my troth.”

Demas repeated his lines in this tragic play with surgical precision. “I take thee, Avelynn, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, at bed and at board, for fairer and for fouler, for better and for worse, in sickness and health, till death do us part.”

With a flourish, Demas produced a fine gold ring from a pouch hanging from his belt. He placed it over the top of the thumb of my left hand. “In the name of the Father,” he said, and moved the ring to the first finger. “In the name of the Son.” He moved the ring to the second finger. “In the name of the Holy Ghost.” He placed the ring on the third finger. “Amen.”

That last word echoed in my head like a hammer striking a bell.

“Who is to give the bride away?” Aldulf asked the crowd of witnesses.

“I am.” Osric stepped forward.

My father wasn't here, so my uncle was in charge of my transfer. Marriage was a contract of ownership. The maiden, once under the control and administration of her father, was placed formally into her new husband's care. In the marriage contract, Demas must state clearly what my bride-price consists of—the prearranged worth of my value as a woman and wife. Most brides received land and tokens of wealth. I was under no such illusions. The ransom he paid the Vikings for my freedom assured that, on paper, he owed me nothing. In the wedding ceremony itself, the giving and receiving of the bride was played out figuratively.

Osric handed his knife to Demas. Demas walked behind me and grabbed hold of my hair. He tugged the strands roughly, causing my head to jerk back. He placed the knife against my back, just below my waist. He was careful to press hard enough for me to feel the steel's edge. Aldulf nodded and Demas sawed through my hair. Half its length fell to the rushes. Demas stepped over the fallen strands and waited in front of me.

Many took this next part of the festivities as a gesture of fun, and the task was completed with gentleness and humor. That was not to be my fate.

Osric slipped my right shoe off my foot. Bowing, he handed it to Demas. With all due ceremony, Demas struck me hard upside the head with the offending leather weapon, indicating the transference of ownership—as custom dictated—was completed. I staggered and leaned heavily on Aldulf for support.

Extricating himself from my shaking arms, Aldulf walked to the far right corner of the hall. Osric wrapped his arm around mine and followed. He pushed down forcibly on my shoulder, and I crumpled, kneeling before the archbishop for benediction. Without any acknowledged family in attendance to present him, Demas proceeded alone and knelt before Aldulf.

A tall, lanky man, dressed in simple monk's robes, stepped forward holding the care-cloth. He placed the veil over our heads while the priest prayed and blessed the union. We repeated this process in each corner. At the last, we were raised anew, two souls joined in the eyes of God and the Holy Church.

Aldulf led us solemnly from the hall to my bedchamber. He blessed the room and the marriage bed, and then placed a wreath of victory on my head. Made of myrtle leaves, early-blooming white wood anemone, and purple lesser periwinkle, the wreath symbolized my victory over the temptations of carnal sin, for I was of course a virgin. He produced the marriage charter, and we signed the contract. I was officially Demas's chattel.

Three beeswax candles—one tall and thin, two as thick around as my thigh—were set on a silver charger in the center of a small table near the foot of the bed. Aldulf lit the tall candle. It would burn until midnight. The two remaining candles would count down the hours of one day each. I would be spared the indignation of bedding Demas for sixty hours. As protocol demanded, we were to spend the first two nights in silent contemplation and prayer, each in separate chambers. It was not until the third night that we were expected to consummate the marriage. The consummation would wait, but the feasting would begin immediately.

Aldulf led us back into the hall. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I present to you, husband and wife.”

The hall erupted into clapping and cheers, and we took our place at the head table. Pages scurried in with wooden platter heaving with food, while serving women bore clay pitchers of drink.