The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (8 page)

It was an entirely new experience for him.

He turned to look at her finely drawn profile, the burning in his loins clearly revealed in the gray sparks of his eyes. And Cathryn, feeling his gaze, turned and was impaled on the cold heat of those silver eyes. It was a look she recognized all too well. Without any marked effort, Cathryn retreated even more deeply into calm composure; the outer layers of her thoughts and wit folded inward as a turtle into its shell.

Married less than an hour and knowing her for less than a day, William still had no difficulty in seeing that she had withdrawn from him more fully, yet he could not reason why. She was safely married, her holding secure now that it was in his grip, and he was not unpleasant to look upon... Why should she not be gladdened by what this day had brought to Greneforde?

Lifting the goblet, he carefully raised it not to his own lips, but to hers. It would have been expected of him if she were a woman unknown to him; that she was his wife—and his wife of just minutes—made his act of chivalry imperative. Also, he would win a smile from her. His vanity demanded it. It was enough to sour the meal to have her behave so churlishly at the celebration of their joining. Cathryn reacted as if dazed. The look in her brown eyes labeled him either a lunatic or an imbecile. He was neither; at least he had not been before meeting her.

Smiling, his manner cajoling, he murmured for her ears alone, "I would serve you, Cathryn. 'Tis the French way, if not the English."

When she only stared into his eyes like a bayed deer, he added, "I would honor you, lady."

To his relief, she allowed him to give her a drink from the cup they would share for the feast. He did her honor, yet her manner did not warm to him. Taking back the goblet from her lips, he held her eyes with his while he drank from the portion of the cup that she had heated with her lips. She paled and stared at the hands she held so rigidly in her lap, the jeweled ring he had given her twinkling joyously against the white of her gown. It was the only thing about her that did shine with goodwill. Truthfully, she perplexed him.

"By law she is no more a maid," Rowland said softly into William's ear. "She now must wait until day's end for the fact of that to take place."

Of course. He was an imbecile not to think that she would be uneasy about the bridal bed. He suddenly almost felt pity for her. The day had a different look when seen from a maid's sheltered eyes. She was wed to a stranger, though that was not so unusual, yet hers had not been handpicked by a loving parent. Her betrothed had been decided by an unfamiliar sovereign with martial haste. It would be enough to cast any young girl's emotions adrift.

"Come, Cathryn," he said gently, his sympathy aroused now to mingle with his desire. "I have cut the finest portion for you." And he held it in his hand before her mouth. Her mouth remained firmly closed as the clear, red juice of the meat ran down the side of his hand. "'Tis a fine bridal feast, lady; I would have you taste of it."

Hesitantly, reluctantly, she opened her mouth to him, and as the meat grazed her lips, her tongue flicked out to meet it, and William knew that he had never fed a lady with such sensuous overtones. Yet such had not been his intention. Until now.

"Yea, Cathryn," he whispered encouragingly, "'twas moist and tender, was it not? The juice ran freely and fulfilled a hunger that grows keener with being fed, did it not? Do you desire more?"

"Nay," she answered abruptly when she had swallowed, almost choking.

"Nay?" He smiled slowly. "You eat sparingly, lady. I would have a wife with healthy appetite and feed her hunger till we are both satisfied."

Cathryn was breathing rapidly through her mouth. She was certain that if he did not stop staring at her with those eyes, those piercing steel eyes, that she was going to vomit all over the fine linen of the table. All his talk of meat and juice and hunger... It had her stomach in a coil. It would be his just due if she did spill her stomach in his lap. A fine bridal feast this would be then.

John saved her in the only way he could: he provided a much-needed distraction. Coming in close to William, he poured more wine, lifting his arm to just above William's face. The look of repugnance that swiftly crossed her husband's features restored her composure entirely; actually, it was an effort not to laugh. John took his time with the wine, moving his arms and clothing around much more than necessary for that simple act. Cathryn was ready for William's remark the moment John left the vicinity of the table.

"There is," he began, looking almost accusingly at her, "an odor of the unwashed mingling with that of the meal. Do you agree?"

What a fine knight she was married to, to find such distaste in a little healthy sweat. But she did not say so; nor did she reveal the direction of her thoughts in the expression on her face. Looking blandly at her husband, she answered, "The preparation of the bridal feast has quite consumed what time they had. Particularly with the delay," she added pointedly.

William did not pursue it. Instead he studied her face. It was a beautiful face, certainly, but without any warmth or sparkle in the eyes. Well, that would change, and right quickly. Cathryn was terrified of the bedding to come; once that was behind her, she would bloom like any other woman. Fear ruled her; he was sure of it.

Unfortunately, he was quite right.

Chapter 5

Cathryn stepped out of the small room that jutted off the chapel, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of the heavy wool she wore. It had been too long since she had spoken with a priest of God, and she felt better for it. At least for the moment.

Looking up at the simple cross, she remembered Father Godfrey's words. She and le Brouillard were one in God's sight; it was not such an unpalatable thought. Truly, she was bone weary of carrying the weight of all Greneforde on her shoulders. It would be good to share the burden and the decision making. And William could travel the distance to Blythe Tower as she could not; who would attack a knight of such strength? Blythe Tower could be just a mass of rubble after so many— She pulled her scattering thoughts back. It did her no good to think of Blythe Tower, yet it was time to know just what remained and what could be salvaged. Having William le Brouillard as husband would be good for Greneforde.

Cathryn suddenly had a vision of his face as he had looked down upon her from the back of his warhorse; a shiver trailed down her spine that she struggled to control. He was a man of high pride; there was no disputing that. The priest had not even pretended to. Father Godfrey had also said that William was a godly knight with a keen devotion to God's inspired word and manifest will. There was comfort in those words, for was God not known for His forgiveness and mercy?

And His righteous anger?

She could not allow her thoughts to travel there. Truly, she had never had such trouble controlling her thoughts until the arrival of William le Brouillard. What was it about him that weakened her willpower? Whatever it was, it was most annoying. She did not think it unlikely that he did so on purpose; he was French and they were an obdurate race.

Father Godfrey had been kind and comforting. He knew her husband well and had not lost faith in him even after hearing her confession, although his own composure had slipped for just a moment. Shock had been in his eyes, swiftly drowned by compassion. He was a kind man. Surely, if her husband had been in the company of such a priest, having been instructed in spiritual matters by him for many years, surely some of that kindness had taken root in him? It was a logical, if unconvincing, argument, but it was useless to ponder it. All would be well because all must be well. The words comforted her, for she lived in a world not
of
should
but of
must.

Godfrey left the tiny room with slow steps that stopped completely upon seeing Lady Cathryn standing alone in the chapel. Dressed as she was in white, with hands clasped before her in meek supplication, she looked the penitent pilgrim. He thought it a particularly apt comparison.

William, seeking her, appeared in the portal as silently as ever. Odd that it was William and not Father Godfrey that she was instantly aware of. His dark hair curled abundantly on his head; would it be soft or springy? Would it be as blue-black in the summer sun as it was in the winter fog? Catching her thoughts before they flew away with her, she laughed inwardly; it would be wiser to ask if his jaw would be as resolute and his eyes as penetrating six months hence. She did not know what she hoped for in answer to her unspoken question.

As William was coming to expect when he came upon her unexpectedly, he had eyes for none save her. He did not see the penitent pilgrim that Father Godfrey saw; he saw a strong woman, a woman in full command of herself and everyone else. But as cold as she seemed, she drew him in. It was folly—he knew it was—but she drew him to her as the earth draws the lightning bolt.

And then another thought struck him hard: she seemed ever to stand alone.

Godfrey broke the moment of intense contemplation between them. With a gesture, he welcomed William into the chapel, his expression unaccountably serious. Again, rising like the tides, the knowledge that something was amiss in Greneforde swept over him. The sensation never left him completely, but was only enhanced or subdued. The sensation was strong now.

"I am glad that you are both here, for there is something I would like to do before this day of your joining is over," Godfrey said.

Taking Cathryn's hand in his own, Godfrey held it tenderly, both hands surrounding hers as in a paternal caress; then he placed her hand in William's. Her husband's hand, far surpassing the priest's in both size and strength, engulfed hers so that all that was left visible was her protruding wrist.

Cathryn was not comforted.

But Godfrey spared her not a glance. His gaze—and it was a fixed gaze of serious intent—was reserved wholly for William.

"Remember you the scripture regarding how a husband should love his wife, William?"

William had not been expecting that, and it was a moment before he answered.

"Yea, Father, if you refer to Saint Paul's letter to the church at Ephesus, but now is not the time for one of your tests of my concentration and memory."

"'Tis more than that, William. I would hear you speak the words of our Lord concerning a husband's duty to his wife. I would wish for Lady Cathryn to hear them in your voice."

William searched Father Godfrey's face for an indication of where he was going with this odd request. He saw nothing there save earnestness. Cathryn was looking curiously at the priest, so she did not appear to have any clearer notion as to the cause. Normally William would have cheerfully and politely refused Godfrey's request, putting him off for another time, but today he had obtained a great prize after years of labor. He submitted to the priest with a smile. The sense of unease that he had had when first entering the chapel was waning and he was glad of it; he had Greneforde and he had Cathryn. What could be amiss?

"Yea, Father, I remember it, and if you seek proof I will gladly supply it."

William began, "'Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.''' William stopped for breath and noticed that Cathryn had her hands clasped tightly in front of her gown and that she was staring wide-eyed and mute at Father Godfrey. Of course, that irritated him. What was wrong with the woman that she always looked to the priest and never to the husband God and king had given her? Eager to finish, William continued at a faster pace.

"'In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church—for we are members of His body. For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.'"

"Thank you, William," Father Godfrey interrupted as William stopped again for breath.

Cathryn's cheeks were flushed with color, and, though she had not looked at him since he began his recitation, William was enchanted by the sight of her. Perhaps Godfrey's request of a recitation of Holy Writ had not been ill founded; saying the familiar words had put him in mind of the pleasures of the marriage bed. Come morning, he was certain that he would make his wife's cheeks flush with becoming regularity. The longer he watched her, with her breath coming in near gasps, the more certain he was that Cathryn's blood would be warmed in bed.