Swords and Shields (Reign of the House of de Winter) (10 page)

Thetford Castle

Norfolk

For a couple that wanted nothing to do with marriage, neither of them, the eventual wedding at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the ensuing wedding feast had been calm and, at times, even pleasant.

The truth was that the day itself had been quite unusual, especially at the church when Lady de Winter had snatched Lady Elizaveta and pulled the girl into the sanctuary, having her husband and son shut the door behind them and then refusing to let anyone in. Lady Agnes had been beside herself, thinking that Lady de Winter was beating her child, whilst Mme. Mabelle had cursed at the de Winters using antiquated French phrases that no one had ever heard of. Something about a dog for a mother and a pig for a father. Eventually, Christian du Reims was forced to move his wife and her mother away from the church, praying that the de Winters weren’t working his daughter over inside the church. A bruised bride would only bring chaos. Therefore, like everyone else, he waited fearfully.

And waited. A ceremony that was supposed to take place just after Matins didn’t take place until mid-afternoon when the church doors suddenly opened. Not only did Lady de Winter and Lady Elizaveta appear, both of them quite unharmed, but a very big knight also appeared with them. Drake de Winter was quickly introduced by his father, who seemed rather shocked to see his son, but after that, the ceremony was performed without trouble. Drake and Elizaveta were joined without a hint of resistance from either one of them and everyone retreated to Thetford Castle.

Thetford Castle was a rather small castle with an enormously tall motte in the center of it and the keep perched atop. There were great earthwork berms to the north and a great moat that encircled the motte, but between the motte and one of the big berms to the east was a bailey with outbuildings and a hall. It was inside this hall where the feasting was taking place. The hall could hold about two hundred people in a very crowded group but with two long, well-scrubbed tables, it held about forty family and wedding guests.

It was warm in the hall, smelling of smoked and crushed rosemary, which Devereux was particularly fond of. It was a pungent, clean scent, now mixing with the smells of food that were starting to come forth. Several different types of bread were upon the tables; breads with cheese and herbs mixed in, or currants, or cinnamon and raisins, which Denys de Winter was particularly fond of. The big de Winter brother collected at least three of the loaves and was walking around the hall with them, gorging himself, while his father rolled his eyes at the impolite behavior.

More food was brought to the tables as the guests seated themselves. Cheeses, fruits, great bowls of boiled beans and peas, and a swan in the middle of one of the tables that had been roasted and then had its features put back on to make it appear alive. The illusion was quite lovely until Dallan de Winter ripped one of the wings off and began devouring it, much to the chagrin of his mother. By that time, the feast was in full swing and no one much cared. The wine flowed freely.

Drake, who had politely helped his wife to sit on the bench before taking his seat beside her, collected the nearest pitcher of wine and filled her expensive, pewter cup with the de Winter crest forged onto it. He was coming to hope that the display of wealth impressed her so she would feel better about the house she had married in to. It was odd that, as reluctant as he had been, he didn’t want
her
to be reluctant. Her reluctance made him feel oddly insecure and for a man with the ego Drake had, he wasn’t used to insecurity. Therefore, he wanted to impress her so that she would actually show some interest in the marriage. He, of course, would still be reluctant and ever would be, at least in theory, but his reluctance boosted his ego whereas hers tore it down.

“How do you feel, Lady de Winter?” he asked her as he finished topping off her wine.

Elizaveta reached for her cup, looking at him as if confused by the question. “I am well, thank you.”

He grinned, that impish look she had seen before. “I am glad,” he said, moving to fill his own cup. “I am glad that setting foot in the church with me did not set off fits or cause heart palpitations. It would seem, contrary to popular belief, that the act of marriage did not kill either one of us.”

Elizaveta grinned as she sipped her very sweet wine. It was delicious. “That remains to be seen,” she said. “The day is not over yet.”

Drake looked to the big windows in the hall, seeing the sunset beyond. “I believe that it is almost finished,” he said. “If neither one of us fades away by darkness, then this marriage will hold.”

He was lifting his cup to her, as if in a salute, and Elizaveta reluctantly clinked her cup against his. “Let us pray that it does.”

There was a deeper meaning in that, something that Drake sensed. He was still too naïve about his new wife, or marriage in general, to know what she really meant, but he reasoned that their wedding feast was the place to discover such things.

“Then let us start the process,” he said. “I would be happy to tell you something of myself if you will also indulge me and tell me something of your background. As for me, my upbringing is unremarkable. I fostered at Winchester Castle, and Prudhoe in the north, before swearing fealty to Cortez de Bretagne, a great supporter of Edward’s. I have been stationed at Sherborne Castle in Dorset for the past six years.”

Elizaveta listened with interest and when he was finished, she knew he had glossed over any events of bravery that would have made him the decorated knight his mother had alluded to.

“All quite interesting,” she said, “but your mother informed me that you were rewarded for bravery in battle. I, in fact, have come to understand that I am the reward. I would like to know my worth as a reward, Sir Drake. What did you do to earn me?”

He smiled, although he was eyeing his mother across the table with some disapproval for having spoken to Elizaveta about the circumstances regarding their betrothal.

“That is true,” he admitted. “What, exactly, did my mother tell you?”

Her eyes twinkled, enjoying the fact that he seemed uncomfortable. “Only that,” she said. “I would ask you for the details.”

He saw no harm in telling her. Perhaps if he did, she might be more pleased about marrying him. She might even be impressed.

“I took two arrows for the king’s nephew in a battle up in Scotland,” he said. “For my bravery, I was given a bride of extremely noble blood. I was given you.”

Scotland… where my mother was born
. The mention of Scotland immediately brought about thoughts of Mabelle’s directive to her granddaughter – 
you have a duty to your family and you will fulfill that duty.
Grandedame
was sitting down the table from her, on her left-hand side with only her mother, Agnes, between them. Even so, Elizaveta had never felt the woman’s presence more heavily as she did at that moment. She was, once again, reminded that the only reasons she was here, sitting next to this handsome knight, were because she had been strategically placed there to spy on him and to spy on the English. God, she hated that directive more now than she did when she first heard it.

I am not a spy, Grandedame!

You are now.

Elizaveta’s smile faded somewhat as she struggled against her harrowing thoughts, praying her new husband could not read minds. “Two arrows?” she repeated, sounding both shocked and concerned. “It must not have been too bad. You seem healthy enough now.”

Drake pointed to his right side. “One in the back, near my shoulder, and the other in the back of my right thigh,” he said. “Any arrow strike is bad, my lady, but fortune was smiling on me that day. The injuries were not too severe.”

Elizaveta sipped her wine. “Fortune has nothing to do with it,” she said. “God was watching over you that day. ‘Tis He who spared your life.”

The smile was back on Drake’s lips. “Mayhap that is true,” he said. “But I have seen enough to know that God has help from the Fates from time to time. He cannot be everywhere at once.”

Elizaveta grew serious. “That is where you are wrong,” she said. “He is everywhere, always. He is here with us, right now.”

Drake watched her intently, the way her mouth moved when she spoke. She had quite a luscious mouth. “I see that you are very pious,” he said, avoiding a religious discussion with her mostly because he’d seen enough things to believe, at times, that there was no God at all. But he would not tell her that. “Tell me of your background. I would like to know something of the woman I have married.”

Elizaveta thought carefully on her reply as she sipped her wine. “My upbringing is unremarkable as well,” she said. “I was born at Thunderbey Castle, my father’s home. I was five years of age when I went to foster at Rochester Castle. When I grew a bit older, I was educated by the nuns from Rochester Cathedral. In fact, I lived in the cloister for two years. Therefore, when I tell you that God is everywhere, I know that for a fact. The nuns have told me such things and they would not lie.”

Drake poured her more wine. “Rochester is an impressive castle,” he said. “I have seen it before. So is the cathedral; a monstrous place.”

Elizaveta nodded. “It is,” she said. “It is home to me. I… I hope to visit it again someday.”

The servants were bringing out more dishes and everyone at the table was sitting back, watching the presentation begin. Drake politely moved Elizaveta’s wine cup out of the way of a servant placing a rather large pie in front of them.

“If that is your wish, I will take you,” he said. “When did you leave there?”

Elizaveta was quite interested in the big, brown-crusted pie in front of them, for she was very hungry. “Two years ago,” she said. “I went to live with my father for a while before going to France to live with my mother and grandmother.”

Drake glanced at her as he used a big spoon to break the crust of the pie. “Your mother does not live at Thunderbey?”

Elizaveta shook her head. “She lives in France with my grandmother,” she said, lowering her voice because her mother was next to her. “She cannot stand the English climate or the English for that matter. She was born in Scotland, you know.”

Drake spooned out a large portion of crust, gravy, and meat for Elizaveta, placing it carefully on her big, pewter plate. Whereas most families ate on trenchers, big slabs of stale bread, the de Winters had pulled out their good pewter plateware for this occasion. This entire event was meant to show East Anglia just how well the de Winters lived and that meant everyone ate on pewter plates.

“I did not know that,” he said. “Why was she born there?”

Elizaveta was more focused on her food than on her reply which, in hindsight, was perhaps not the wisest thing to do. She should have been more cautious in divulging such information but her hunger won over as she collected a big hunk of bread.

“She is from Clan Maxwell,” she replied as she slopped her bread into the gravy and took a big bite. “My grandmother married into the clan long ago and lived there until my grandfather died, whereupon she returned to her home in France. My mother is half-Scots and half-French.”

Maxwell
. The Clan Maxwell held Caerlaverock Castle, the one he’d been injured at and the castle that he’d eventually helped seize. He was suddenly very glad he had not told her where he’d been injured, especially since her mother was sitting on the other side of her and more than likely listening to the entire conversation. Until he could come to know Elizaveta a bit better to see just how strongly she felt about her Scottish kin, Drake would steer clear of any mention of battles in Scotland, which wouldn’t work so well when he had to leave to once again join Edward. The man was up in Scotland still and the battles were still waging, and Drake had promised to return after his marriage. He had no idea what he was going to tell Elizaveta when he left. Therefore, he eyed his new wife, somewhat nervously now, as he spooned crust and gravy and meat onto his own plate.

“And you have the beauty of all of those countries,” he said because he couldn’t really think of anything else. He wanted off the subject. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Fortunately, Elizaveta was too hungry to realize he was shifting focus away from her roots. She was busy eating, going with the conversation and not paying much attention to it.

“I have spent the last few years in a convent and then living with my mother and grandmother,” she said, grinning. “I have not heard many compliments at all, truthfully.”

He smiled broadly. “Then you had better become accustomed to it,” he said, “for I intend to tell you every day just how beautiful you are.”

Elizaveta shook her head. “I would ask that you not.”

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

She shrugged, now uncomfortable. “I… I would not want you to say so because you feel you have to,” she said. “I do not rely on men’s flattery. It is not something I long to hear.”

He found the statement rather interesting. “I would not say so because I felt I had to,” he clarified. “I would say so because it is the truth.”

Unsure what to say, Elizaveta spooned a big bite into her mouth and chewed simply so she wouldn’t have to say anything at all. She wasn’t sure why the subject of flattery made her so uncomfortable, only that she sensed that Drake felt that he was obligated to feed her female vanity. Elizaveta didn’t have any vanity to feed; therefore, the subject was uncomfortable for her.