Lords of the White Castle (22 page)

'Your women are here to tend you.' He gestured over his shoulder towards the sound of whispering and cleared his throat. 'I am sorry if I hurt you last night.'

'It was only a little my lor… Theo.' She remembered what he had said about using his name in the informal setting of their chamber, and saw his gaze soften with tenderness.

'Even so, I would not have hurt you at all,' he murmured and stroked her cheek. 'I am afraid, sweetling, that you will have to make haste. The wedding sheet is needed in the great hall so that the guests can bear witness.'

Maude made a wry face at the thought of having the proof of her virginity hoisted aloft for all to see.

'I'll leave you to your preparations.' Somewhat awkwardly, Theobald backed away from the bed, murmured to the waiting women and made himself scarce.

Immediately Maude's grandmother and the maids surrounded the bed. One of the women handed her a hot herbal tisane. Maude cupped the steaming mazer in her hands and gratefully sipped.

'You have done well,' Mathilda de Chauz said with a brusque nod that was as close to praise as she was going to get. 'Your husband seems very pleased.'

Maude continued to drink the brew. The act of consummation had not been the pleasure of which Hawise FitzWarin had spoken, but neither had it been the dreadful ordeal that her grandmother had hinted at. There had been pain, for which Theobald had gasped an apology while he was still capable of speech. There was still pain now, but not beyond bearing, and after last night, Maude realised that she now had power and influence beyond anything she had possessed in her father's household. She was Lady Walter, and Theobald had entrusted his thoughts to her. It was that, as much as anything else, which compensated her for the physical discomfort he had inflicted.

LORDS OF THE WHITE CASTLE

'Here's water to wash yourself, Lady Maude,' said Barbette, one of the maids assigned to her at Lancaster. 'And some soothing balm if you have need.'

Maude shook her head. 'Lord Walter was good to me,' she said.

Immediately her grandmother looked anxious. 'He did consummate the marriage?' Throwing back the covers, she gestured Maude to leave the bed and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the blood-smeared sheets and the red streaks bedaubing Maude's inner thighs. 'I am proud of your bravery,' she said. Turning to the maids, she ordered them to strip the sheet and take it to the great hall.

'I wasn't brave,' Maude admitted. 'I drank so much I scarcely knew what was happening, and now my head aches.'

Barbette laughed, the sound quickly smothered as Mathilda scowled.

'You need willow bark powder, my lady,' the young woman said. 'I'll fetch you some.' She whisked out of the door, and the two remaining maids set about stripping the bloodied sheet, proof of Maude's virginity. Should she bear a child nine months from now, it could be none other than Theobald's.

Maude washed the blood from her thighs. When he had penetrated her, she had clenched her teeth to hold back the scream. Theobald had apologised, but pushed deeper, whispering raggedly that to withdraw again would only cause her worse pain. The first time was always difficult. It would grow easier. She had to trust him. And trust him she had, throwing her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life as he hurt her twice more and then shuddered in her arms like a dying man. In those sticky, bloody moments as she held him, the vulnerability had been transferred and she had been given an inkling of the power a woman might hold over a man.

With her grandmother's help, Maude donned an under-tunic and gown of pale and dark green linen. Mathilda braided Maude's heavy blonde hair in two thick plaits and dressed it with a veil of light silk. The tug of the plaits, the tightness of the silver circlet securing the wimple, intensified her headache. Barbette returned with another steaming cup, this time containing an infusion of powdered willow bark.

Maude drank it down, grateful for the sweetening of honey that took away the bitter aftertaste. She risked a glance at her reflection in her new mirror. The ravages of the night showed in the dark rings beneath her eyes, but otherwise her face was unchanged. To look at her, no one would know the bridge she had crossed last night.

Down in the hall they were waiting for her. Some of the younger men, still gilded from the wedding feast, raised a cheer when she appeared, her arrival preceded with great ceremony by the wedding sheet. She affected to ignore them but was betrayed by a blush. She knew that they were looking upon the bloodstained linen and imagining her defloration—not necessarily by Theobald.

The wedding sheet, as custom demanded, was opened out and pegged on the wall behind the high table like a banner. After a single glance, Maude averted her eyes and took her place at Theobald's side. He kissed her hand and greeted her formally, addressing her as 'my lady wife'. He too avoided looking at the sheet.

His squire served her with bread and cheese. She declined the wine that was offered and contented herself with a cup of buttermilk. Her head was still throbbing but the willow-bark potion was slowly beginning to take effect. She noticed that Theobald drank sparingly of the wine and surmised from the way he occasionally rubbed his brow that he too was suffering for last night's indulgence.

Once they had eaten. Theobald rose to his feet and called for silence. 'As you know,' he declared in a powerful voice, 'it is customary for a groom to give his bride a gift on their wedding morn in token of his esteem. This is a true gift, hers alone, and cannot be given or sold without her yeasay.'

Turning to Maude, he presented her with a vellum scroll, tied with red ribbon and sealed with his device. 'I call you all to witness the gift I bestow upon my new wife, namely the incomes from five manors, two fisheries and two mills in my honour of Amounderness, and in Norfolk, these incomes to be disposed of as she chooses.' With a flourish he presented her with the scroll, adding to it a small ivory-casket containing a rope of seed pearls and, suspended from it, a gold cross set with rubies to match the one in her wedding ring.

Maude was overwhelmed. Despite her noble status, she had never been showered with as much largesse as in these last two days. In addition, Theobald had chosen wisely and kindly. The jewellery was a symbol to all of the store he set by her and the grants
of
income gave her a source of personal independence. 'Thank you, my lord,' she said breathlessly.

'It is little enough.' His tone was gruff. Taking the pearls, he set them around her neck, arranging the cross so that it hung straight.

'She is overly young to be entrusted with such wealth,' her father said from her other side where he had been observing the proceedings with a critical eye.

Theobald turned to his father-in-law. 'But not overly young to become a wife or be entrusted with the well-being of myself and everyone in this keep,' he said curtly. 'If she is ready for one, then she is ready for the other.'

Robert le Vavasour thrust out his heavy lower lip.

'Whatever their skills, women need firm guidance if they are not to stray.'

'Maude will receive all the guidance she needs from me,' Theobald said, laying a gentle hand on his bride's shoulder, the gesture nevertheless indicating possession. 'All she has to do is ask.'

Le Vavasour made a gruff sound in his throat and his complexion darkened slightly. 'I would not like to see my son-in-law make a rod for his own back.'

Theobald inclined his head, showing that he was aware of le Vavasour's concern. 'We reap what we sow,' he said pleasantly.

Maude had been silent during the exchange, but her emotion was one of pleasure that Theobald was taking her part. Here was a man she could respect of her own accord, not out of duty.

'My lord husband, give me leave to stow this vellum safely,' she requested. She could have sent a maid on the errand, but it was a way of escaping the situation. Whether Theobald defended her or not, it was still like being a bone between two dogs.

'By all means.' He met her gaze in perfect understanding. She curtseyed deeply to him, gave a small dip of her head to her father, and made her escape.

'She's a fine, spirited lass,' Theobald said, admiring her lissom figure as she made her way to the stairs. And that spirit must be very strong, he thought, to withstand her father's bullying and emerge relatively unscathed, except for a certain nervous manner of glancing. 'She is my bride; I'm entitled to indulge her a little.'

'Aye, well, for your own sake, make sure a little does not become too much,' le Vavasour growled. 'Women spoil very easily'

Somehow, Theobald managed to bite his tongue on the remark that Robert le Vavasour had certainly spoiled Maude's mother with his treatment. Indeed, he had likely killed the poor woman. Theobald intended to keep her daughter safe from any such spoiling.

A short time later, Maude returned to the great hall, driven from her chamber by the presence of her grandmother and the other female guests and their insatiable quest for gossip. It was like being a young pullet in a hen house, pecked and harassed by the older birds who knew their place and wanted to show her hers.

Her father was no longer at the high table and a young, raven-haired knight had taken his seat. He looked vaguely familiar but she could not immediately place him. Certainly, he had not been present at the previous day's nuptials. She would have remembered the striking, hawkish looks. He was eating bread and cheese with gusto and nodding vigorously to Theobald's conversation. His recent arrival was clear from the helm and sword laid to one side of his platter and from the dust clinging to the surcoat he wore over his mail. On her husband's other side sat another young man, his attire more suited to that of celebration. Instead of a sword and helm, a handsome lute lay at his right hand, and, unlike his companion, he wore neither mail nor surcoat. Nearby were several more armour-clad young men, hungrily breaking their fast.

Maude considered turning round and retiring to her chamber again, but quickly dismissed the notion. Rather the unknown than the hen coop. Putting on a welcoming smile, she went forward.

The knight raised his head and his jaw ceased in mid-chew as their eyes met. The hair prickled at Maude's nape and she felt as if a fist had punched inside her rib cage and squeezed. She put her hand to her midriff and, beneath her palm, drew a short, congested breath.

Theobald beckoned her to come and sit with them on the bench. 'Do you remember Fulke FitzWarin?' He gestured to the knight.

'No. I… I mean yes,' Maude stammered and tore her gaze from the young man's smoke-hazel eyes. In his turn, FitzWarin broke the contact by lifting his cup to wash down his food.

. 'I am not sure that I remember you,' he said ruefully. 'Jean warned me that you would have grown into a rare beauty, but his words do not do you justice.'

The young man in the fine clothes smiled. 'They do not, my lady,' he agreed.

Theobald introduced him as Jean de Rampaigne, his former squire. With an effort, Maude gathered her scattered wits and responded. He was more handsome than FitzWarin if neatness and regularity of feature was a consideration, but with his roguish grin and merry eyes he was endearing without Fulke's smouldering attraction.

She took her place beside Theobald, squeezing up against him so that no part of her touched Fulke. His mail-clad arm rested on the board. She looked at the shine of light on the rivets, her eyes travelling its length to the cuff of gambeson and tunic and following by natural progression the tanned contours of his hand. The lean, strong fingers were quite beautiful. A narrow white scar across the knuckles and a newer pink one curving around the base of the thumb, only served to enhance the appeal by suggesting that here was both experience and vulnerability.

'So, what brings you from the jousting circuit?' Theobald enquired.

Fulke drew in his arm and, leaning back, folded it inside the other. 'Jean had errands for Lord Hubert and I offered to ride escort.'

'If I had known you were in England, you would have been welcome at my wedding.'

'I know that, my lord, but considering your other guests, it was for the best that my mother represented our family.'

'Perhaps so.' Theobald looked slightly embarrassed. He waved his arm. 'But I insist you stay for tonight. I've missed your company and there are years of tales to tell. You'll want to wash away the dust of the road and be rid of your weight of mail.' He glanced at Maude and cleared his throat.

She realised with a jolt of panic that it was now her duty as lady of the castle to see to the comfort of their guests. Oh. Jesu! she thought. She might have lost her fleshly maidenhead last night, but there were still many areas of virginity to be broached. What would her grandmother do? Maude rose unsteadily to her feet and then looked desperately at her husband.

'I believe there is an empty wall chamber now that Prince John has departed,' Theobald prompted.

'Oh yes, indeed.' She smiled gratefully at him and turned to his guests. 'I'll show you where it is and the maids will fill some tubs so that you can bathe.'

Fulke collected sword and helm from the trestle. Maude watched the motion of his hands and then tore her gaze from them.

Fulke was looking at Theobald, wry amusement in his eyes. 'I am to occupy Prince John's chamber? I do not know whether that says something about your sensibilities, or your sense of humour.'

Theobald waved him away. 'Just my sense, since we are sore-pressed for space. Go on with you.'

Fulke gave Theobald an amiably sarcastic salute and turned to Maude. 'Lead on, my lady.'

Her face flaming, she led Fulke and his small entourage from the hall. At least, she thought with relief, she had not caught his gaze in speculation on that damned bridal sheet. Indeed, he had seemed at pains to avoid looking at it, and for his chivalry she was glad.

Actually, it was not chivalry, but a broil of far less worthy considerations that had caused Fulke to avert his eyes from the wedding sheet. At first he had not looked because he had been raised in a slightly eccentric household where the deeds of the bed were viewed as something between man and wife and not the rest of the world. Although he knew the sound reason for the display, it was still a little obscene. When Maude had entered the hall, he had almost choked on his bread. Gone was the thin, huge-eyed waif of his memory, replaced by a young woman, still coltish and slender, but certainly not a child. The eyes, a clear cat-green, the braids heavy white-gold falling beyond her veil, the cheekbone and jaw finely wrought, and, God in heaven, that wide, cushion-soft mouth.