The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series Page 3

  "The Lady Cathryn is clean. You should have no reason for complaint when in close proximity to her," he said dryly.

  William did not answer immediately, his gaze resting upon the woman who would soon sign the marriage contract. After her initial greeting, she had paid him scant attention; her face had been drawn to one man only, and that man was Father Godfrey. She spoke with him now, her expression earnest though composed, leaning toward the good father almost... conspiratorially.

  "What think you of her lack of knights, William?" Rowland continued as they walked across the courtyard, William's eyes never stopped in their circuit of the bailey of Greneforde. The outbuildings were in good repair, though not without signs of hard use. The orchard was well tended. The yard was free of debris. The great tower, in its four-storied splendor, was magnificent. Most towers were of two floors, and some boasted three, but Greneforde, his tower, was a colossal four.

  "'Tis well I have knights pledged to me," he answered Rowland. "Until the curtain wall is rebuilt of stone, Greneforde is vulnerable. 'Twas my plan to engage an engineer I heard of in London; now I also wonder if laborers should not be hired from other parts than these. The men I have seen look hardly strong enough to lift and heft a river stone."

  "Lack of food does not make for strength," Rowland remarked quietly.

  William looked at his friend and nodded solemnly. He, too, had noted that the fields were empty, having a look of neglect that spoke of more than a season of idleness. Greneforde and its people had indeed suffered during Stephen's reign of anarchy. Money would be needed not just for the curtain wall, but for food. Still, these discoveries did not dampen his enthusiasm over Greneforde; if anything, they accentuated it. Greneforde needed a strong lord to see to her protection and survival. She had one in him.

  In the course of his conversation with Rowland, William had let his eyes stray repeatedly to Cathryn, still deep in conversation with Father Godfrey. Though he could not hear what was being said, her manner spoke clearly of urgency. As before, when she had stood alone to greet his arrival, William's suspicions were fed like dry kindling to a new fire. Godfrey would perform the ceremony and officiate during the signing of the marriage contract; could it be that she sought his help in finding a means of escape from this coming marriage? She had been in sole charge of Greneforde for many years, and he knew enough of women to know that few would gladly relinquish that kind of autonomy. She, like all women of her class, had been reared and trained to manage an estate in the absence of a responsible male, just as he had been trained to fight and command. Cathryn of Greneforde was a fool if she believed she could thwart his ownership of the land; he would command her as he would command Greneforde, with the king's hearty endorsement, and by the struggling look of Greneforde, the land itself might well call out its thanks at his coming. Yes, Lady Cathryn would bear scrutiny until the marriage contracts had been signed and witnessed, at which point she would be powerless to rebel against him. William sighed restlessly as he watched her enter the great tower, her twined hair fluttering above her knees as she walked.

  Ulrich had no eyes for the condition of the outbuildings or the land; he noted only one thing and lost no time in voicing his observation.

  "It has been ten leagues and more since I beheld a woman under two score years," he almost whined. "When you bring in food for Greneforde, William, could you not also bring in some comely women?"

  "You insult your lord, Ulrich, to say such when his bride has just been revealed to you," Rowland said with mock seriousness.

  Ulrich blushed immediately to the roots of his hair and stammered angrily, "I did not mean... Rowland, you know... Lady Cathryn is most beautiful, most desirable..."

  When William's black eyebrow rose in inquiry and Rowland shook his head somberly, Ulrich blurted, "Not that I find Lady Cathryn beautiful..."

  William's other eyebrow rose a notch at that awkward insult.

  "Nay! 'Tis that she is to be your wife!" Ulrich nearly shouted.

  At those words, William smiled slightly as he stood in the portal of the stair enclosure.

  "'Tis so," he said simply. Then, his gray eyes piercing the darkness of the stair, he added quietly, "And 'tis time to see that Lady Cathryn is likewise sure of it."

  He mounted the circular stair quietly, clad in metal though he was, passing through the ground floor storeroom until he reached the hall on the first floor. He was well pleased with what he saw there. The hall filled the whole of the first floor and was well lit by wind holes. A fire roared in the mammoth hearth, emitting waves of heat that warmed the chill stone of the room. The wooden planks of the floor were well swept, the rushes woven into a neat mat and clean. Directly behind the lord's table, pristine in its white linen, a large tapestry depicting a knight in full armor beneath the shadow of Christ's Holy Cross fluttered sporadically in the breeze from the wind holes. Lining the perimeter of the room, tables and benches for soldiers and servants provided ample seating; it was the place he had always occupied before. Before today. Today and for always, the high table would be his.

  Again he sought out Cathryn. She had abandoned her post by Father Godfrey and stood in yet another earnest conversation, this time with a servant—by the look of him, the castle steward. William, his own face quite earnest, moved across the room to speak with Father Godfrey. He would know what they had spoken of and he would know it now. This niggling doubt as to Cathryn's obedience to the king would be killed—and quickly.

  Keeping his voice low, he bluntly demanded of the priest, "Your conversation with Lady Cathryn was long. Did she seek your counsel in avoiding this marriage?"

  Father Godfrey could not keep the spark of amusement from his eyes as he faced William, nor did he try overly hard.

  "Nay, William."

  It was hardly a sufficient answer, to William's mind. He pressed, "Does she try to delay the signing? For there will be no delay. My mind will not rest until this matter is settled."

  "Nay, William, we spoke not of the marriage," Godfrey answered with a smile.

  "If she wanted to know something of the man she is pledged to, it would have been better to—"

  "William, we spoke not of you," Godfrey interrupted with a wide smile.

  William le Brouillard, known on three continents for his fighting ability and his beauty of from, frowned down at the priest.

  "Lady Cathryn," Godfrey supplied, "is quite anxious for me to say a mass for the dead." At William's blank look, he added, "That is all that we spoke of, William."

  "Then you must say one at the soonest opportunity," William answered calmly, his composure back in place.

  Godfrey nodded in acquiescence, his own expression carefully bland.

  William, hearing Rowland approach, turned to face him, more than glad to abandon his conversation with Father Godfrey. They scanned the hall together. It was not the hall itself that occupied his thoughts now, but the inhabitants. Servants moved briskly about the space, intent on their purpose, talking and mumbling and directing each other without pausing for breath. Rowland watched for William's reaction. Ulrich's words rang true; there was not a man or woman who was under forty years of age, and each and every one was filthy. Their clothes were encrusted and stiff with the grime of months, if not years. Streaks of dirt smeared faces, trails of meat fat ran along the sides of mouths, and fingernails were black instead of white.

  The servants of Greneforde stank.

  Of them all, only Lady Cathryn was clean, and in her white gown she stood out as a beacon fire on a black night.

  Rowland looked again at William. Across Syria, Armenia, Cappadocia, Phrygia; in Antioch, Edessa, and Dorylaeum; from Moldavia and Bohemia and Saxony; in the lands of Champagne, Blois, and, naturally, Normandy, William le Brouillard was well known for his fighting skill, his beauty, and... his cleanliness. In the arid sands of Damascus, where water was more precious than pearls and men sold their horses for a mere cupful of it, William had been clean. It was not that he had an unmasculine f
ear of dirt and hard labor—no one who knew him long could make that accusation. It was just that he could not abide slovenly habits in himself or in those around him. One had only to hear Ulrich complain to know the truth of that. And now William had his land and his estate and his people, and the people had passed dirty six months ago. If Rowland had been of a lighter temperament, he would have laughed.

  William watched Cathryn as she spoke with the steward. She was thin, with the willowy grace of tall grass moved by the wind, but he could see now that she was a full woman. It was not the look of her, for she was as slender and shapeless as a child, but the manner she possessed. She was in full command of the hall and its people; for all the hurried activity of the folk brushing past her, each and every one looked in her direction not once, but often. Sometimes she would nod or make eye contact, sometimes she did not acknowledge them at all, but still they looked to her. William, watching her, suddenly felt distinctly unnecessary.

  "The hour is past for the main meal, my lord."

  Her voice was low and soft, yet carried to him clearly across the clamor of the hall.

  "Yet a full table has been prepared for you and your company so that you might refresh yourselves after your journey to us."

  He could see that it was so. The high table was being set with steaming trenchers, and the goblet that was positioned in the place of the lord's chair was of finely worked silver. There was nothing in her words or her manner to feed suspicion. He was hungry. His men were hungry. The food had clearly been prepared in advance of his arrival. Still, he could not ignore the alarm that jangled in the heart of his thoughts. For all of her sweet words and her open-door welcome, he did not quite trust the lady of Greneforde. Something was amiss, and if he did not know now what it was, he was certain he would know ere long. Until he did know, marriage to her was his best security against open warfare with the people of Greneforde. Armed battle was not how he wanted to begin his lordship. From such a beginning it might take years to heal.

  "Lady," he began, "your hospitality is welcome as has your welcome been most hospitable, yet I would not delay the signing of the marriage contract and the nuptials that will join us as the lord and lady of Greneforde." William paused to smile. "I am Henry's man, and he has sent me here to secure the land in his name; I would be a churlish knight if I chose my own comfort over quick obedience to the king's command."

  Cathryn heard his words without any wisp of expression crossing her features, but her very lack of response was response enough.

  "Lady Cathryn," William continued, "you have prepared a fine banquet for your betrothed." He paused again to smile, but his eyes shone like unsheathed steel. "I would have it be our wedding feast and eat it with my wife beside me."

  In those long and silent moments, Cathryn regarded William le Brouillard as she had not yet done. Courtly of speech he was, certainly, but the steel of him was a barely concealed blade that, while not aggressively seeking to hurt, also would not hesitate to do so if provoked. He seemed a strong man, one not accustomed to having his will thwarted, who would fight, even if gently, to achieve his purpose. All this she thought as she faced him and heard his prettily spoken words that all the same said that he would not eat now, that he would not eat until Greneforde was lawfully his.

  This glimpse into the character of the man who would rule Greneforde did not dismay her, indeed, such traits would serve Greneforde well, if Greneforde's welfare was important to him. Of herself and how she would fare with him, she did not, would not, ponder.

  "Your duty rules you, my lord, and I am ruled by it," she answered simply with a graceful nod. "Your chamber awaits you. When you have changed out of your battle gear, you will find me in the solar; if that is in accord with your desires."

  He would rather have gone directly to the chapel and signed the contracts immediately, but he did not want to risk offending her by marrying in armor after she had capitulated without argument concerning the meal. Subduing his anxiety, he smiled with all of the courtly charm that he had acquired during his years of soldiering and answered, "That you seek to gratify my desires pleases me, Cathryn, and so I would please you."

  For all that his imminent wife was adept at self-possession, he did not miss the slight widening of her dark eyes at his answer. She was an innocent, unused to the seductive speech used at court; it was to be expected in light of Greneforde's remote location, and he was pleased by it.

  "I will dress in robes that will add honor to the ceremony that will join us. You will not have long to wait, lady."

  No reply was necessary, for which she was grateful. There was a lump in the center of her chest that pushed against her lungs so that she struggled to draw breath. He was strikingly handsome, this man who would rule her; his eyes glowed and sparked like newly worked steel, and his fine words wound around her like a net. She hoped he did not know that she found his words beguiling, for it would not do for him to gain so firm a foothold and so quickly.

  Turning swiftly, Cathryn led the way to the stair and on to her future husband's chamber.

  It was just above the great hall below, but half its size. The room had been divided in the past to make two rooms: one, the lord's chamber, and next to it, the solar. It was an unusual arrangement. Usually the lord's bedchamber served as solar, since space inside a great tower, even a large one, was at a premium, but, even divided, the bedchamber was ample in size. A large bed dominated the room, draped in pristine white that almost touched the floor. The bed, surmounted by a canopy structure, was bare of the canopy itself, but that could be easily amended. On the far side of the bed was the hearth, with a fire crackling brightly and dispelling the damp cold that infused the stone walls. Before the fire was a padded stool and a plain bench that had been artfully carved but had seen rough handling during its lifetime. On the opposing wall, closest to the curtained entrance to the room, was a simply carved chest of royal proportions, and next to it was a washstand with a pitcher and bowl. William nodded his approval of the room; it was large, it was well-appointed, and it was clean.

  Before he could speak, Cathryn stepped back into the curtained alcove that separated the door from the room; it was a very effective means of keeping down drafts that could rise with stormlike force in the narrow confines of the stair tower. A pair of men carried in a deep wooden tub and set it before the fire, nodding and touching hands to forelocks as they passed the new lord of Greneforde. On their heels came a stream of servants carrying buckets of water, unloading their heavy burden into the tub and quickly leaving the room. The servants, each and every one, had two things in common: each cast Cathryn a questioning glance before leaving and each was covered in grime. It did not pass William's notice, and while the one aroused his never-sleeping suspicions that something was afoot in Greneforde, he commented only about the latter.

  "A bath before a warm fire will be most welcome. Lady Cathryn," he said. "You are most kind to think of it. It has been many days since I last washed," he added, looking pointedly at the last departing servant and the dirt tracks he left in his wake.

  Cathryn only nodded, refusing to follow where his eyes led.

  "During the time I traveled in the Way of the Cross I learned a great deal," he continued, moving more deeply into the room. "The Saracens, by example, taught us much in the way of warfare and architecture and, for myself, the comfort of cleanliness. I highly recommend it."

  Cathryn stayed at her self-imposed post by the doorway, and though her answer was mild, he felt the deeply hidden barb within it.

  "You are fortunate, my lord, to have learned so much. Not everyone has had the advantage of traveling far afield in God's work."

  William, remembering with vivid clarity the dirt, the depravation, the starvation and thirst, but most of all the violent death that had been part and parcel of that traveling, wondered if she truly understood what she was saying.

  "I concede that not many were able to follow the Way, and far fewer to return," he answered with equal mildness
. "Therefore, my insights are all the more valuable for their rarity."

  "An interesting perspective," she murmured.

  "And one I devoutly hope you will come to share," he said with pleasant force, his eyes glowing like polished pewter, "as we will share all things."

  Cathryn, backed into a corner both literally and figuratively, clasped her hands before her and nodded pleasantly and...forcefully.

  "Lady"—William smiled—"it is my wish that the people of Greneforde bathe. Often."

  "And so they shall," she responded calmly despite the escalated pounding of her heart. Bowing slightly, she said, "I will leave you to the care of your squire and your bath." And she disappeared as Ulrich entered in a flurry of motion.

  Descending the stairs gave Cathryn time to slow the racing of her heart. Her initial estimation of William le Brouillard had been correct, and this second encounter only supported her conclusion: he would be a strong force in Greneforde. He would demand, in his honeyed fashion, that his wishes be made law. She smiled slightly to herself as she reached the bottom stair. The rain had become heavier and more chill since the arrival of le Brouillard. It struck the already muddy earth, sending up brown spikes of impact with each drop. Clutching her white gown up to her knees, she hugged the wall of the great tower and dashed to the kitchen. There were ways to deal with such a man, and the earth itself would instruct her. As the rain beat against the soil, seeking to change its very nature, so le Brouillard would beat against her. But, in the end, the rain blew away with the first steady wind and the earth was left as it had been, unmarked and unchanged by the water thrown against it. So it would be with them, and she would be the victor, though the victory would be a gentle one.

  The kitchen staff would be nervous—that she knew without even thinking—so she entered with a smile, shaking the water from her hair with a laugh. It was well she did so, for they had cause to worry.

  "He has ordered baths, has he not, lady?" Eldon asked. Of course they knew what had been said, at least in essence, in the lord's chamber. There were no secrets in the closely confined world of tower and wall.