Shadows and Strongholds (33 page)

Rounding the corner of the stable block in search of a moment's sanctuary, the sight of a sweating chestnut cob led by one of Joscelin's messengers swept the morning's events and all brooding thoughts to one side.

'Ulger?'

The man's lugubrious features lit with a smile. 'Master FitzWarin.' He inclined his head, baring a bald pink island ringed by grey curls.

'What are you doing here?' The anger in Brunin's belly was replaced by a different kind of wallow. There could be only one reason why Ulger had been sent to Whittington, and he wouldn't be smiling unless…

'I've a message for your father, but being as it concerns you, you might as well be the first to know. Lord Joscelin and Lady Sybilla have accepted your father's offer concerning the marriage between you and Mistress Hawise.' The smile became an outright grin. 'Great news, is it not? You'll be returning to Ludlow'

Brunin stared. For a moment the balance between the misery of a few moments since and the joy of the new tidings held him numb. And then the numbness gave way and the relief rushed through him, weakening his knees, stinging his eyes. 'Great news,' he repeated, his voice cracking, although it was the thought of returning to Ludlow as much as the thought of Hawise that overtook him—then, at least.

Hawise pressed her hand against the shutters in the domestic chamber, unsure whether to open them wider or close them on the view of the bailey and the castle gates. She was remembering the days when she had sat on a store-shed roof awaiting her father's return, her gown kilted through her belt, her legs bare almost to the knees and her hair a wild straggle around her shoulders. It seemed long ago, yet still close enough to touch, but whatever the distance, everything had changed.

Today she was waiting not for her father to ride through that entrance, but her future husband. The guards had sighted the Whittington party from the battlements and heralds had been sent to escort it in. Soon she and Brunin would be pledged to each other in Ludlow's chapel in the presence of a priest and witnesses for both families. Last time she had seen him, he had been leaving for Whittington: her father's squire on the verge of knighthood, her childhood friend, her adolescent companion. Occasionally her loins had weakened at his closeness, at his scent at the sight of his hard, whipcord body, but such times were balanced by others when she had been oblivious of his physical presence. She had grown up with him but was unsure how she was going to make the transition to being his wife…

Hearing a fanfare from the battlements, her breathing quickened and her heart began to thud, like rowers picking up the beat on a galley.

'They are here,' murmured Sybilla, laying a calming hand to her shoulder.

Hawise gave a broken half-laugh. 'Too late to change my mind now.'

'Do you want to?' There was gentle concern in Sybilla's voice.

Hawise shook her head. 'No, Mama, but I wish it were over instead of just beginning.'

Sybilla leaned down to kiss her daughter's cheek. 'It will not be as awkward as you think. Doubtless Brunin is wishing it over too. Come, we had best go down and receive them. Lady Mellette might not set store by her own manners, but she expects everyone else to polish theirs, and we would not want to disappoint her, would we?'

Sybilla's arch tone of voice brought a smile to Hawise's lips. 'No, Mama,' she murmured. 'We wouldn't.'

By law all that was required to make a betrothal binding were four witnesses, two for the bride, two for the groom, but in this case that number was far exceeded: by family members, retainers from both households, and sundry servants and castle folk who had squashed inside Ludlow's chapel to watch. More than one matron grew misty-eyed over the slender, darkly avised young man and his betrothed with her garnet hair curling to her slender waist. If the Lady Mellette had her reservations about girls with red hair, today she kept them to herself as she watched her grandson betroth himself to a half-share in Ludlow.

Joscelin grasped Hawise's right hand in his. Giving it a gentle squeeze in reassurance and farewell, he conveyed it to Brunin's right hand and removed his own, leaving the young couple joined. It was a symbolic gesture, a transferring of masculine authority. From now on, it was Brunin's task to protect and discipline Hawise, as it was hers to cherish and obey him. The betrothal was a pledge as binding as marriage; indeed it was the first part of the marriage ceremony. The concluding part would be the wedding itself, confirmed by a further witnessed oath and consummation. The date set for that had been tentatively placed as the midsummer after next.

Hawise sensed the weight of the witnesses' stares bearing down on them, laden with expectation. She could feel a constriction in her throat. She would not panic; there was nothing to be afraid of. She met Brunin's gaze. Beneath the level black brows, his eyes were darkest brown, but held too a reflection of the red from his tunic. There was intensity in them and concentration, and a flicker of something unsettling that both attracted and frightened her. They exchanged a kiss of peace to seal the pledge, but it was a formal salute and there was no pressure to the gesture. The symbolism was everything and the physical sensation naught. It was the first time she and Brunin had ever kissed, and she realised with an inward grimace that Marion had more knowledge than she.

The couple turned and walked from the chapel back to the hall, pacing in formal procession. The hem of her gown whispered over the ground; his boots made no sound on the hard, beaten earth. He kept his gaze on the middle distance. Hawise's own glance flickered to the thatched roof of the store shed. The memories of her childhood seemed far more real than her current situation.

Marion congratulated Brunin and Hawise with a blinding smile and blank eyes. 'I will do better for myself than you,' she said loftily to Hawise. 'You'll see.' She walked away, head carried high and the sun shining on the blue silk of her new gown.

'I suppose I should speak to her and set things to rights,' Brunin murmured reluctantly.

'As long as it is not in a dark stairwell,' Hawise said, only half in jest.

His eyelids tensed. 'No,' he said and hesitated as if he were going to say more.

She waited, but he did not speak. Instead he tightened his mouth. She did not push him lest it was something that she did not want to hear.

Indeed, it was for that very reason that Brunin refrained from speaking. He was not sure that it would be courtly to blurt out that he wished he were in a dark stairwell with Hawise. Nor did he want to say something so personal when they were surrounded by a crowd of family and retainers, agog for every sign or nuance of emotion the betrothed couple might display. It was an intimate thought in a less than intimate moment. He was awed at the changes wrought in Hawise during the time he had been away The territory had altered and even landmarks that remained familiar had undergone a subtle shift. She was still his lord's daughter, she was still his friend, but now she was also his future wife. That oath of betrothal had bound them with ties that could only be sundered by death. Furthermore, she looked ravishing in that gown. He would have to be made of stone for his thoughts not to turn in the direction of dark stairwells… or indeed of feather beds. Yet with those thoughts came anxiety. He did not have to scratch far beneath the surface to find his insecurity. Marion had exposed it like a sharp fingernail tearing flesh when she'd said that she would do better than Hawise. He felt a fraud. He wasn't worthy of this match. There were too many expectations being heaped upon him. The burden was so heavy that he could not understand why he was still on his feet; he anticipated that at any moment he was going to fall flat on his face. Unwilling to articulate such fears, especially to Hawise who was so changed, he held the emotions within and said nothing.

Towards the end of the betrothal feast, when the guests were relaxed and the atmosphere had grown less formal, Brunin sought out Marion. He slid into the empty position on the bench at her right side. Cecily had been sitting there until a moment ago, but had retired, pleading that she was still in mourning for her husband.

'I am sorry,' Brunin murmured.

Marion gazed at him through wine-bright eyes. 'Sorry that you have to be betrothed to her?' she asked with a jut of her chin. 'Or sorry for me?'

Brunin winced. 'Sorry for what went before,' he said. 'Everyone treated it as a game—as a whim. But it was serious for you, wasn't it?'

'Treated what? Can you not even say it?' She bared her teeth. 'Was it a game and a whim when you kissed me on the stairs at Sibbi's marriage?'

Brunin shifted uncomfortably on the bench, made uneasy by her virulence. 'As I remember, you made the first move,' he said. 'You asked me.'

Her expression grew bitter. 'But you were eager enough to follow.'

He looked down at the board. 'I thought you were playing with me. That was what I meant about it being a game and a whim.'

'What would you have done if the "game" had gone further than a kiss?' she demanded. 'Would you have stood by me, or would you have seen me branded as a slut and packed off to a nunnery?'

Brunin flushed defensively. 'Matters didn't; there is no point talking about it.' He started to rise to his feet, suddenly knowing that it had been a mistake to try and make his peace while wine was simmering in her blood and her hurt still sharp.

She laid her hand on his sleeve and gripped his forearm. He felt the dig of her nails through tunic and shirt.

'As I said before, I am sorry… deeply sorry, the more so since it has come to this.'

'You will be. I swear to you on my mother's grave that you will be.'

He gazed down at her hand and then lifted his eyes to hers. What he saw in them raised the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Marion gave a short gasp, released her grip and, thrusting away from the bench, stumbled for the sanctuary of the stairs.

Rubbing his arm, Brunin returned to Hawise. He shook his head when she leaned towards him. 'Do not ask,' he said. 'Let the dust settle.' But privately, he doubted whether settling was possible in the storm he had seen in Marion's eyes.