Claudia Dain (48 page)

Kendall, riding out from the center of the mist, happily distracted him.

"You found Greneforde?" William asked when Kendall was within shouting range.

"Yea, William, I found your holding."

"And how did you find her, this land that is mine?" he pressed, instantly uneasy with the brevity of Kendall's response.

Kendall looked down as he removed the mufflers from his hands. "The land is rich, the great tower is well constructed and sound, and the Lady Cathryn is preparing for your imminent arrival."

Reminded of her again, William felt obliged to ask, "And how did you find the Lady of Greneforde?"

"When I related that the king had pledged her in marriage, she received the news with calm acceptance," Kendall carefully recited. He had been rehearsing his exact wording for over an hour and was pleased with the blurry truth of it.

"Did I not tell you that she would respond so?" William smiled at Rowland.

Rowland only smiled and nodded his dark head in acquiescence.

"The lady will be ready when I arrive?" William asked specifically, anxious to be past this possible point of conflict.

"When I told her that she was to be wed to William le Brouillard by order of Henry the Second, she said not a word against the match and disappeared straightaway to begin preparations," Kendall replied, telling the technical truth.

"She sounds a woman of remarkable self-possession," Godfrey said softly.

"Yea," William agreed, "a valuable trait in a wife. As you have pointed out," he continued, directing his conversation to Godfrey, "there have been many years of war, and she is clearly gladdened to know that she will soon have a husband who can defend the land and give her children. 'Tis what all women want," he finished authoritatively.

In response, Kendall fussed with the placement of his mufflers, which seemed to be giving him unaccountable trouble. Father Godfrey fingered the rosary beads hanging from his belt, his expression deeply contemplative. It was all the response William was going to get. Their manner puzzled him. Why such buried discomfort over Kendall's news of her readiness to receive him?

"Come, Rowland," William demanded, "you have been a husband. Do not all women yearn for safety as men yearn for conflict?"

"That has been true of the women I have known," Rowland answered simply.

Thus ended the discussion of Cathryn. William was about to question Kendall more thoroughly about Greneforde when Kendall volunteered, "We enter Greneforde land, William; in fact, you were on your own land when I reached you. The great tower is but a moment's worth of hard riding due west."

There was no time for Kendall to say more. William had urged his mount into a run and was riding hard, due west. Rowland followed apace, for even with Henry on the throne, the land was rife with men who ignored the law.

It took considerably more than a moment to see the solid outline of Greneforde's tower materializing through the uneven rain, but William hardly noticed. The tower, licensed and built during the reign of Henry I and therefore not destined to be demolished with the myriad castles that had been built during the years of anarchy, had originally been of motte and bailey design. The great tower stood on a raised mound that dropped off sharply to the river. The curtain wall was of wood, but well constructed, and a tower had been added to the southeast corner, overlooking the river. The curtain would need to he rebuilt of stone, but it was not in derelict condition and would withstand attack during the rebuilding process. William was busily calculating the cost in time and money of construction and concluded that it might be accomplished in a year if he could find an able engineer. With William approaching from the west as he was, the tower on the wall looked impressive; the walls were crenellated, as was the great tower, which rose to an impressive height of four floors.

So involved was William with his first sight of Greneforde that he did not immediately note that the land lay untended, that the forest was encroaching on cleared land, that there was no village. So pleased was he with his holding that when he did take note of the air of neglect that Greneforde exuded, he could not let it concern him overmuch. Greneforde had a lord again and he would see to all her needs and happily.

William was home.

The Holding

Mediveal Knights Series

Book One

by

Claudia Dain

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The Holding

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Page forward and continue your journey

with an excerpt from

The Marriage Bed

Medieval Knights Series

Book Two

Excerpt from

The Marriage Bed

Medieval Knights Series

Book Two

by

Claudia Dain

Prologue

It was dark; the full and black dark of night between Nocturn and Matins when a man's sleep was heavy and his soul most vulnerable. It was then that she came. It was then that she always came.

He watched her come to him, her movements graceful and light, her hair a dark veil that moved with her. As before, he could do nothing to stop her. It was the heart of his shame.

He could not resist her. She lay upon him, tucking her chill feet against his calves as her mouth opened damp upon his exposed throat. He had strong arms, warrior's arms, fit and long, yet he could not hold her off or keep her back. She lay atop him, a light and stirring weight of femininity, and defeated his resolve.

Her mouth moved slowly up the column of his throat toward his jaw; she traced the shape of it with the tip of one finger before pulling his mouth down to hers, giving him her wild and reckless heat. Dark hair spilled over her back to lay tangled on his arms and chest, cool and heavy like the night itself. They were not alone, but it did not matter. She had come for him, and he could not refuse her seduction.

All was done silently—the raising of her shift, the feel of her heat against his nakedness, the weight of her bosom pressing against him, pressing him down until his shaft rose in angry and eager rebellion. Nay, not angry, only eager. Such was the depth of his sin.

Stone walls flickering golden in the light of a single candle witnessed all. He kissed her, holding her down to him, ravaging her mouth like a wolf tearing into a hare and with as much repentance. Her legs spread over him, encasing him in soft heat, urging his seed to spill forth, to join his body to hers. Yet even now, his spirit cried out in silent torment that he had lost again. Yet again.

He was damned.

The knowledge followed him into release, his seed spurting out in unlawful spasms to lie in a wet and defeated mass upon his thigh.

The holy brother who stood in charge of all the novices in the Abbey of Saint Stephen and Saint Paul watched him in horror as the bells rang for Matins.