Suzanne Robinson (24 page)

“You might as well leave,” Honor said without looking at him. “I will do this should the king himself try to prevent me.”

Sir Walter looked at her with startled curiosity, but Galen didn’t move.

“No matter what you tell him, it’s not finished,” he said.

“You’re wrong.” Honor turned to Sir Walter. “Father, I need air after seeing Aymer’s—after seeing Aymer. Would you take me up to the wall walk?”

“Certainly, my dear.”

Without looking back, she entered the nearest tower and began the climb to the wall walk. Once outside again, she deliberately stepped to the battlements and gazed out over the countryside, even though she didn’t see the fields of ripening wheat and barley.

Her father was slower, but he was at her side before she was ready to speak. She watched a shepherd and his dog driving a flock to a distant meadow. Finally she faced Sir Walter.

“Father, I do not wish to marry Galen de Marlowe.”

“Not wish—what’s this?” Sir Walter was already turning red. “Why, yesterday you were dancing about the place like a virgin on May Day.”

“I don’t wish to speak of my reasons. I will only say that Lord de Marlowe has most grievously offended me, and I can’t marry him.”

Her father was gawking at her, openmouthed. “It suffices not, this grievous offense, whatever it is. First you say you’re a vowess and will not marry. Then you say you will have Galen de Marlowe, one of the most influential men in the kingdom.
And now you say you won’t have him at all. Yes, no, yes, no. Bah!”

“Now, Father.”

“No, by my faith. All lovers quarrel. Husbands and wives disagree. Arguments are soon mended when ill-humors fade.”

“It’s not a lovers’ quarrel.”

Sir Walter shook his head. He began to pace and mutter.

“After all this trouble, after the king himself has taken notice and given his consent. No, my dear, no. It won’t do. Mortally offend Galen de Marlowe? It’s not to be considered.”

Honor grabbed her father’s sleeve, tears making her vision blurry.

“Father, I can’t marry him.”

Sir Walter’s voice grew louder. “And why not? Because he has annoyed you? Madness. I’ve had enough of your changeable ways, daughter. You’re in love with that man, and you’re going to marry him.”

“But he doesn’t love me,” Honor whispered, her tears falling at last. Her throat hurt from trying to keep them back. She covered her face with her hands. “He doesn’t love me.”

Sir Walter put his arm around her shoulders. “Now, child, don’t cry. Whatever the matter may be, I’m sure it can be settled if you talk to him.”

“No!” Honor sprang away from him. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“God give me patience,” Sir Walter said. “Very
well, don’t talk to him. But you’re still going to take your part in the betrothal ceremony.”

Honor wiped her eyes and shook her head.

“I
know that look,” Sir Walter said. “You’re planning some mischief, but I won’t have it.”

Her father looked over her shoulder and signaled to a guard at the next tower. The man came running.

“Alfred, escort Lady Honor to her chamber and make sure she stays there until I send for her.”

“Aye, Sir Walter.”

“I
’ll send George and Nigel to stand guard with you as well.”

Honor was staring at her father in horror. “You’re not going to do this.”

“You’ll recover your senses once the betrothal ceremony is over,” Sir Walter said. “Go, Alfred, and if she escapes you, I’ll hang you by your heels from the kitchen steeple.”

Honor opened her mouth to protest, but Sir Walter glared at Alfred, who took her arm and guided her away with a grip so firm that Honor had no choice but to leave. A few minutes later she watched her chamber door shut and heard Alfred place a bar across it.

Honor sat on a chest at the foot of the bed and stared at the panel, stunned. Why didn’t her father understand? Why was he being so obstinate? Couldn’t he see how greatly she objected to Galen de Marlowe?

Mayhap he couldn’t understand. Men looked at
the world differently than women, and Father had been so happy with Mother. No doubt he imagined her being as contented with Galen.

Honor flushed with humiliation at the contrast between her parents’ marriage and what she would endure. Well, she wouldn’t endure it—a marriage in which Galen would pity her for loving him when he did not love her. She grew ill thinking of it.

Honor rose and paced the floor. Father was going to see to it that she went to the betrothal ceremony. What he couldn’t do was make her say the vows. When the time came, she would simply refuse. It would be ungracious and create ill feeling and evil report, but she had no other choice. The alternative was to betroth herself to Galen, to promise before God that she would marry him.

That was the nature of the betrothal, to signify before the Lord one’s future intention to marry. In fact, there was little difference in the wording between the two ceremonies. In a betrothal the priest used what the church called words of the future. He asked, “Do you promise that you will take this man to husband if the Holy Church consents?” In marriage, the priest asked, “Do you take this man to husband?”

Honor clenched her fists as she considered what she was about to do. She would humiliate Galen before many witnesses. He had hurt her, but she found that she no longer wished to hurt him in return. The terrible events of last night had burned away
her lust for revenge. But she’d be damned before she’d take a man who’d been forced to marry her.

Honor sat down on the chest again and sighed. She was exhausted and suffering a pain she feared would never leave her. All she wanted was to be left alone.

So, in a few hours, when the priest asked, she would simply reply, “I will not.”

T
WENTY
 

A
s the hour of nones approached, Honor sat on her bed and pretended to read one of her new books, a translation of Virgil. Jacoba bustled about unpacking and setting new volumes on a special shelf. Honor read the same sentence for the fifth time, closed the book and set it aside. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them.

“Me lady, please. You’re going to ruin that beautiful gown. Look, it’s all covered with dust. I declare before God I don’t know how you can get so dirty in so short a time.”

“Never mind that,” Honor said. “You’re certain Dagobert isn’t too upset about his grandfather?”

“He hardly ever saw Master Baldwin, me lady, what with him being in service to you so far away
from here. He’s in good spirits today because he’s proud to be a part of the ceremony. Later, when we have the funeral, he’ll begin to understand and grow sad.”

Honor thought for a while, then said, “We might be able to bribe Alfred and the others to let us escape.”

Jacoba set her fists on her hips and shook her head.

“Sir Walter’s threatened them right furious. Says if they let you out, he’ll throw them all in the dungeon.”

“Father hasn’t used the dungeon in years. He just locks thieves and criminals in the shed next to the piggery.”

Jacoba wiped dust off a packing crate with a rag. “Sir Walter says he’s found the key to the dungeon. Showed it to Alfred special.”

“Humph. It won’t do him any good. I may have to go to the ceremony, but I don’t have to consent. So it’s no use.”

“Faith, but you’re a stubborn girl. Always were. I remember what a time your mother used to have.”

“Oh, not now, Jacoba.”

Someone rapped on the door.

“It must be time,” Honor said as she got off the bed.

Jacoba rushed over to her and began brushing Honor’s gown, sending clouds of mortar dust into the air. Honor coughed and waved her hands.

“That’s enough, Jacoba.”

Sir Walter’s firm voice came through the door. “Daughter?”

“What,” Honor said, nearly growling.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“That’s nice.” The door opened, and Sir Walter stood there smiling fixedly, dressed in red and black velvet. Behind him stood Uncle Edwin and Aunt Maud, both with the same kind of smile, as if they’d been printed on their faces with a press.

“Come, daughter. It’s past time. Everyone is waiting.”

“Let them wait,” Honor said with a chilly smile of her own. “I won’t be forced to take a man I don’t want.”

Sir Walter beamed at her. “God save us, my dear, but you’re all a-jitter. I told Edwin and Maud you’d taken fright as if this were your first marriage. They understand.”

“I’m not frightened,” Honor ground out between her teeth.

She glared at her father, but he kept beaming at her. He took hold of her arm and marched her out of the room. Everyone followed, including Alfred, Nigel, and George. Dagobert waited at the top of the chapel steps smiling with pride at his role in the ceremony. He puffed out his thin chest, opened the doors and marched inside.

Sir Walter followed the page, and didn’t release
Honor until he’d guided her down the aisle between the seated guests to stand before the chaplain and Theodoric. When she reached the altar Honor scowled at the de Marlowe brothers sitting in the first row, then looked around the chapel for the first time. She turned to her father.

“Where is Lord de Marlowe?”

Sir Walter’s determined smile faltered. His questioning gaze darted to Simon de Marlowe, who made a helpless gesture.

“My dear,” Sir Walter said.

She turned to look at the de Marlowes, but they stared at the altar, at the stained-glass windows, everywhere but at her. Her gaze focused on the quiet one.

“You,” she said, her voice echoing off the fan-vaulted roof. “Fulk, where is Lord de Marlowe?” Whispers started in the rows on either side of the aisle.

Fulk glanced at his brothers, hesitated, then rose and approached her as he would an angry lioness. His steps were slow, and his bow long, but at last he faced her and spoke so softly she couldn’t hear him.

“Speak up, Fulk.”

Instead, he drew nearer. His fingers twisted in his gilded belt; he toyed with the braid on his doublet.

“I’m waiting,” Honor snapped.

“He said he’d be back.”

“He left,” she said faintly. The chapel receded, and when it returned she found that she was holding on to Fulk’s arm for support.

Their gazes locked, and she watched his grow shadowy. Then he winced as if in pain, and a shuttered look came over him. Honor gave his reaction little more than a passing thought, for her own pain consumed her. She was the one who was supposed to do the refusing. Instead, her private humiliation had been dragged into the light and displayed before her closest companions, and others who would spread the tale throughout the kingdom. Everyone would know that the great Galen de Marlowe had run away rather than marry her.

Fulk was holding her wrist now and speaking in a low, urgent tone. “I know my brother. He wouldn’t leave if it weren’t a matter of utmost gravity.”

“I’m certain,” Honor said, disengaging her wrist and stepping back from him. “The matter of utmost gravity is escaping the horror of having to marry me.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

Honor held up her hand. “I fear I do. He knew I was going to refuse him during the ceremony, so he chose to reject me first. Your brother is a coward, my lord.”

Fulk tried to speak, but she turned her back on him and confronted her father.

“Lord de Marlowe isn’t here, and you let me walk into this chapel anyway, Father. How could you do that?”

Sir Walter waved his hands. “What could I do? Everyone was waiting in here. He rode off saying he’d return, that we should wait for him. He’ll be here any moment.”

“I do not purpose to stand here waiting like some beggar seeking sanctuary.” Honor lifted her chin and raised her voice so that everyone in the chapel could hear her.

“It seems Lord de Marlowe has saved me the unpleasant task of refusing to betroth myself to him. I am pleased, but I regret that you good gentles have been put to trouble for nothing. For this I beg your pardons most heartily.”

Honor sank into a deep curtsey and sailed out of the chapel. She was halfway to the hall when Jacoba caught up with her. Dagobert appeared in Jacoba’s wake.

“Me lady, what are you doing?” the waiting woman asked.

“We’re leaving, Jacoba. At once.” She ran up the steps and into the great hall, where the servants were in the midst of preparations for the betrothal feast.

Jacoba hurried after Honor up the stairs, with Dagobert close behind.

The page was excited. “Where are we going, me lady?”

“To Florence.”

“Florence!” Dagobert clapped his hands and laughed while Jacoba muttered and shook her head.

“But first we’ll go to Mainz, in Germany, to buy another printer’s press.” Honor yanked open the door to her chamber and clapped her hands. Two serving maids answered her summons. “Everyone pack at once. We’re leaving upon the morrow, at sunrise. Don’t gawk at me. Make haste.”

“Oh, me lady, your father won’t approve,” Jacoba said.

“No doubt my father will still be in the chapel waiting for Lord de Marlowe as I ride over the drawbridge. It doesn’t signify.” Honor turned on the waiting woman and pointed at her. “Mark my words, Jacoba. Upon the morrow we begin the journey to the Continent, and God help the soul who tries to stop me.”