Claudia Dain (32 page)

* * *

William, standing behind Ulrich's seat, pouring wine and more wine, shifted his feet and quickly scanned the hall, which was still full of folk dawdling over their food. Ulrich and Juliane were drinking quite a bit of wine. William's arm was getting heavy and his shoulder sore from lifting the clay pitcher that held the wine. After the contracts had been written, signed, and witnessed, the wedding ceremony could proceed. And the drinking would stop.

That would be good. Juliane should stop drinking now. She could hardly keep her eyes open, and when they were open, they were looking almost sleepily at Ulrich. That was fine, William supposed. They were to be married. She should look at him with something other than disdain, which was her favored look for him. Ulrich deserved more than disdain. Ulrich was the best man William knew, and he deserved St. Ives.

He had worked long for land of his own, that was certain.

Ulrich said something softly to Juliane and she chuckled, ducking her chin down and casting her eyes up at him. She had lovely eyes, blue and long-lashed and merry. At least they were merry now. William had seen them when they had appeared quite cold and hard and determined. And haughty. Proud, too.

Mayhap even vain.

But she did not look like that now. She looked soft and relaxed and even pleased.

Ulrich signaled for another measure of wine.

William poured freely, thinking that if wine was the cause of Juliane's improved temper, then Ulrich might well keep her swimming in wine. 'Twould be well done and worth any price.

* * *

"'Tis not well done of you," Maud said sharply. "I deserve better."

"Better than a fine man with a fine name?" Walter said. "I had thought it would please you, Maud, to be married at your age. You will finally have a man of your own. You might even have children. It has happened before. God may open your womb and bless you in such a way."

"'Tis no blessing to be forced into what you do not want."

"Then pray to want it and the blessing will be most readily found," Walter said tightly.

They sat side by side and spoke softly, pointedly ignoring the swift slide into drunkenness that was happening to their right. If the rose haze of wine would help Juliane endure the public spectacle of her bedding, they wished her happily into a fine drunk. In that they agreed. In that and nothing else.

"Does Philip know of your plan for me?" Maud asked. "We had a bargain between us that goes back years, to before you were born."

"He does not know and does not need to know," Walter said. "I am lord of Stanora upon his death. As to bargains, all bargains die with him. He is not stained by the breaking of it, and I am not bound to hold to ancient agreements. You
will
marry."

"You win have need of me here. Your bride does not know Stanora," Maud said.

"She will learn it. 'Tis her function and her place to manage my holdings when I am gone from here. If she cannot manage Stanora, she is not yet fit for marriage."

"Then you may not marry soon."

"I will. She is ready. I will see to it. It is to your own life that you must now turn your thoughts. To bind yourself to Peter is a good match. He has never had a wife. He yearns for you most fully. What more does a bride wish of a man?"

"That he match my worth?"

"What worth is that, Maud?" Walter said coldly, looking down at her. He dwarfed her in size, for he was a big man and she was hardly taller than Lunete, though three times her age. "You have little to bring to any man, not even youth. In land, Peter cannot match you, but in worth? He has proven himself a man many times over. I do not cast you from me lightly. He is a good man," he said more softly, trying to mollify her. A wasted effort.

"Good for what? Without land a man has no worth."

"He will have your land and will hold it in your name until his death."

"You have done to me what you have done to Juliane. Is this how you rid yourself of the women of your house?"

"I give you in marriage. 'Tis your highest calling."

"Nay, there is another and one which I choose over any man. Give me leave to take the veil. I would enter the abbey, closeted from all men and their manipulations."

"What of Peter?"

Maud smiled without humor. "Give him to Juliane when she is through with Ulrich. She will manage him most well."

"You think she will defeat Ulrich in the marriage bed?" Walter said, his interest snagged against his will. Maud knew Juliane well. What did Maud know that he did not?

"I think that she will defeat him within and without it. This marriage will not stand," she said spitefully.

"Pray you are wrong, Maud," Walter said, suddenly disgusted with women in general. "Pray mightily as I direct you, for this is how it shall be. If Juliane fouls this marriage as she fouled the last one, then you
will
marry Peter. I will have one profitable marriage to mark my lordship of Stanora."

"Then if Juliane falls to him, you will allow me to enter the abbey? My future is dependent upon her skills in the conjugal bed?"

"Aye, you have it," Walter said, standing abruptly. "Pray according to your preference. I leave it up to you."

* * *

"I leave it up to you," Avice said.

"I will not take that wager," Edward said.

"Why? Because a woman offers it? You would take it from Roger," she said.

"I would not make this wager with anyone. 'Tis distasteful. There is nothing of honor or chivalry in it."

"Do not play the righteous man with me now, Edward. I know you better," she said with a calculating grin, leaning close to him as they sat side by side upon the bench of a lower table. This was great fun.

He hated her. He hated her look, her speech, her manner... and her wagering. It was the most glorious torture, and she did not even have to touch him.

Of course, touching him would only make the game more enjoyable. For her. He would likely start bleeding spontaneously from the nose in outrage.

Another reason to do it.

She bumped her shoulder against his arm and laid a gentle finger upon the back of his hand; Edward stiffened and leaned away from her. But the bench was not that long. He would fall. Small pity. He had hairs on his hands, small and golden, like the tips of his hair and the sparks in his hazel eyes, golden sparks showered over him. Beautiful. Fascinating.

Gold was wasted on such a man.

"You will not take this wager because you fear to lose," she said with a smile.

Edward turned abruptly and faced her on the bench, his torso twisted so hard that she could make out the stretch of muscle and tendon lying just out of sight beneath his tunic. He was a powerfully built man. She did not like that about him.

"You make this wager because you know I will not take it. An empty challenge, Avice. What does it gain you?"

"I make no empty wagers."

His eyes were swimming with golden sparks, like shimmering metallic stars cast through burnished clouds. His lashes were dark and short and thick, dark like his brows, dark like his thoughts. Oh, aye, she could read his thoughts. He hated her.

"This one is empty," he said, "empty but for your desire to torment me. I understand you too well, Avice. You seek pain and desire in the path trod first by Juliane. Yet you will always run second to her, will you not?"

"I offered a wager. Nothing more. Either take it or not," she said, pulling away from him. She hated him. He was the worst man she had ever met.

"I offer you another wager," he said, swinging his leg over the bench so that he straddled it and fully faced her.

His legs were monstrous long. He was oafish in his construction. "Will you take it?"

"Will you speak it?" she snapped. "I take no wagers blind. I am no fool."

"Then here is the wager I offer you, though I hardly think you will take it, being as timid as you are and as contrary—"

"Am I to listen to insults for an hour? Is that the measure of this wager?" Avice interrupted, staring hard at him.

"Give Roger a kiss of your own making; make him believe it is a free gift of your doing and no part of any wager."

"That is the wager?" Avice said on a laugh. "A fine gift for Roger, but what is my gain in taking such a wager?"

"Do that and I will stand in this hall and declare you more desirable, more beautiful than Juliane. Your name will supplant hers. Your fame will grow in song and verse. I will tell such a tale of Avice that your name will outlive hers when tales of womanly beauty and power are told."

He understood her too well.

"Why?" she asked, studying his face. He looked most solemn, most serious.

"Must you know why? Is this not close upon what you want for yourself?"

"Why would you offer me a wager which I can easily win to give me something I—" She shrugged. She would not tell him she had wanted this in the quiet of the night. She would not admit that she envied her sister and her sister's legend. No man would have that confession from her.

"It is just a wager," Edward said. "Will you take it?"

To kiss Roger. Roger was a pleasant sort, well-featured and sturdily built. It would not be a burden to kiss Roger.

"When?" she asked.

"Now, or as soon as you can find him."

"Where?"

"On the mouth," he said slowly.

"Nay, I meant where. In the hall? The bailey? The stables?"

"Anywhere."

"Will you watch?" she asked, watching the flecks of gold in his eyes, the frown that wanted to turn into a scowl upon his brow.

"Do you want me to?"

"Will you watch?" she said again, studying him, learning best how to torment him.

"Aye," he said on a throaty growl.

Avice nodded and said, "Then follow me."

Chapter 18

"You are in a hurry."

"Of course I am in a hurry. My father lies dying. I would be about other matters than the giving of a kiss in wager."

"Your father would not approve," Edward said.

"He would approve because I will win," Avice said. "Let it only be done quickly. I must attend my father, and then Juliane is to be married within the hour, if only that clerk would attend to his function. I have much to do today."

"He must believe the kiss to be freely given," Edward said, worried that with such preoccupations Avice would seem less than enthusiastic.

"Oh, he will," Avice said with a confident smile.

He hated her.

Why had he arranged for this? Did he not have better things to occupy his own time? Must he seek out the one person who prodded him with every breath she drew? Her dark hair was hanging loose down her back in small waves that swung to and fro with each determined step. She was tall for a woman, yet had the slenderness of a girl, though her bosom was full and deep. Her bliaut was too snug; he should not have been able to notice her bosom. She had probably sewn it so on purpose, to irritate and distract him. And it did distract him and irritate him.

He hated her, and not without cause.

"Have you seen Roger of Lincoln?" she asked Baldric, the groom.

"Nay, lady, not today," Baldric answered, eyeing Edward curiously. "You might ask Father Matthew, though. They spend some time together every day."

"Every day?" Avice said. "In confession?"

"Lady, I do not know," Baldric answered.

They stood on the high ground of the bailey, near the tower gate. Below them stretched the great expanse of the bailey, sloping down to the wall and chapel and armory and stables and kitchens. Roger could be anywhere. He would not have left the shelter of the wall. There was no reason, unless he went to hunt.

"Let us find his horse," Edward said to Avice. "If he is within Stanora's gate, we will know it by the presence of his horse."

"A small beginning," Avice said. "Stanora is large. We could lose an hour in the hunt for him."

"Lady, I cannot help you," Baldric said. "I must away. Does not Lady Juliane have need of me?"