Betrothed (29 page)

Isabeau
stood proud at Donovan’s side. She wore her green gown with flowing skirts and
equally flowing sleeves that touched to the floor. A gold embroidered kirtle,
with fitted sleeves to her wrists, concealed her throat. Her hair draped down
her back in two long braids, held in place with delicate jeweled and gold
clasps, gifts from her betrothed as was also the circlet of gold that banded
her forehead.

She
might have baulked at wearing the green as it was not her best color,
especially after a night of illness, but Caitlin had confided that wearing the
dress had been Donovan’s suggestion. She had looked at the deep emerald-colored
fabric and thought of their moss bed in the forest—the leafy canopy sheltering
them from the sun. After such a simple memory caused a shiver to run down her
spine, Isabeau easily set aside her qualms. If the green evoked such thoughts
in Donovan, she would wear the dress every day until her last breath.

Father
Matthias’s Latin echoed through the chapel’s rafters as he prayed over her
head. While she kept her head bowed reverently, Isabeau could not stop her side
glances in Donovan’s direction. He seemed larger than life in his resplendent
burgundy velvet tunic and black leggings. His shoulders appeared broader and
his expression more austere than she had ever seen him before. She hid the
tremor caused by the stark glint in his midnight blue eyes.

Contrary
to his promise—or threat—he had not needed to carry her to the chapel. Her
knees might tremble but she made the journey on her own two feet. She did not
think that reminding him would bring any lightness to his countenance. Marriage
was a serious business, especially for an earl. But was business all it was for
Donovan?  Or was it revenge?  Marta’s betrayal had cut deep. Isabeau
understood more than she wished about Donovan’s seizure of her dowry.

The
whys of her marriage mattered little—the deed was done and could not be undone.
She tilted her head as her husband angled the ornate band of gold ring with an
emerald so she could read the Latin etched on the smooth center.

“
What is mine
,”
he whispered for her hearing alone.

Then
he slid the ornate band over the middle finger of her left hand. Deep in her
belly, she felt the weight of the piece on her finger. Swallowing, she licked
her dry lips as she stared at her white hand captured in his huge callused
ones. The ring marked her—branded her as his alone. His wife.

She
was wed.

Isabeau
could not quite believe the deed was done. Only the five—Father Matthias,
Caitlin, Sir Carstairs, she and Donovan—had known what would happen when they
entered the chapel at prime. Caitlin and Carstairs stood beside them but the
only other witnesses to the ceremony were those who normally attended the prime
services. No banns declared, no announcements made of the occasion. She read
confusion mixed with pleasure on many faces.

She
herself wondered at Donovan’s reasons for the speed and secrecy. Saturday was
but a few days hence.

She
wondered about a lot of things but voiced none of them -- until they stepped
from the chapel into the early morning light.

They
stopped at the top of the chapel steps and looked down at the gathering crowd
milling at the bottom. Word of their wedding had begun to spread and Isabeau
could see Maisie and Glenys pushing to the front, using their elbows when a
friend did not move fast enough. Grins split the two weathered faces as they
linked arms and started the hurrahs.

Isabeau
felt a lump form in her throat as the welcome washed over her. An exile from
her brother’s house, she had found a home at Bennington. She looked up at her
husband and swallowed down the knot. She had almost everything.

She
stood on tip-toe, resting her hand over his heart. “Do you think?” she asked
through stiff lips, “Do you think that one day you might come to l-l- have some
tender feelings for me?”

When
he only stared down at her for a heartbeat, she was glad she had lost her
courage at the last. Imagine if she had said ‘love’ and he had remained silent.
Though her question could not have carried over the rising cacophony of the
growing crowd, the shame of his public rejection would have driven her into the
ground. Better no real question. Better no answer.

She
brushed a kiss along Donovan’s jaw to the cheers of the crowd. A wave of
excitement swept them into crowd below, the people of Bennington.  

Hours
later, after the bells of sexts, Isabeau still wondered over the morning’s events.
Breaking their fast had been a festive occasion with many jests at the earl’s
impatience for his bride. He had taken the ribald ribbing with humor and threw
out his own ripostes. The day suddenly transformed into one where labors were
forgotten as the ale and wine flowed freely.

Games
followed the meal and Donovan was carried off to participate.

Isabeau
couldn’t quite believe it. She looked down at the circlet of gold and emeralds
now adorning her finger; a lasting symbol of the vows spoken in the chapel as
the first of the morning’s rays had showered their glory upon the altar.

So
much had happened in such a short time. A fortnight ago she had been planning
her escape to the convent. She had been prepared to take vows as a celibate
bride of Christ.

What
if she had gotten an earlier start on the morning of her attempted escape;
hadn’t stopped to give Meadowlark a drink, herself a rest from the saddle, and
made it to the crossroads before Donovan and his party? What if her path had
not crossed with Donovan’s?

She
might not know the sweetness of a man’s kiss—Donovan’s. The pleasure of his
touch. The ecstasy his body could give to hers. She might never have known the
exquisite knowledge of his babe nestled in her womb.

Donovan
said he had planted his babe. She glanced down at her splayed fingers covering
her belly. Donovan, had given her so much. Was what she could give him of equal
worth? 

She
carried Donovan’s child—a possible son—an heir to Bennington. She silently
repeated the words in her heart as a prayer. Please, God, make it so. By next
spring, she would have the child in her arms. She hugged herself in
anticipation and Donovan, distracted by his people’s celebration, squeezed her
shoulder without looking at her.

A
babe to love. Donovan’s heir. She promised herself she would raise her
husband’s child to be fair and honest and…  Brave. Yes, brave. Life was
too uncertain. Wise, too. A lot to teach hi before she must hand over her son
-- or daughter -- to another for education…

My child will love me unconditionally – whether his father
does or not.

She
could not quite ignore a twinge at that thought. Donovan must have felt it for
he turned to her, a question in his eyes. She smiled at him as if to say ‘all
is well’ and prayed again in her heart,
“Let Donovan
love me...”

The
sun climbed the sky on her wedding day, and then started the downward journey.
Isabeau remembered her success at pleasing Donovan the previous night. Aye, she
had an uneasy moment or two. That wine…  But overall?  Overall, the
earl had appeared very satisfied with what she offered.

 Isabeau
swallowed hard and licked her lips, remembering their tryst by the brook,
resting with their bodies entwined. Donovan had spoken of his marriage; Marta’s
rejection, the closed door. Only after the loss of his son had he realized his
time away from his cold wife had forfeited any chance to know the boy.

A
slow smile curved Isabeau’s mouth. She suddenly knew what she could give her
husband who, though a living legend, was also a man who had been wounded in
many ways. She could throw open a door and welcome him home. Surely her latest
machinations would please him. Grabbing an apron to cover her wedding gown,
Isabeau beckoned. “Caitlin! We have work.”

Isabeau
she would not give Donovan cause to take another to his bed. She would welcome
him into her embrace, give whatever he desired—and reap her own pleasure. She
was sure her husband had the wherewithal to teach her all manner of things
about marital desire.   

“All
of my belongings must be moved to the earl’s room.” Isabeau spoke aloud to
Caitlin as she opened the massive door to the master’s chamber. “My marriage
will not begin with any doors closed between us. From this day on, my husband
will know he is welcome. He will have reason to remain home where he will be
safe from his sword. He will know the challenge of running his own estates
instead of battling with his sword arm.

 “We
will get a couple of stout shoulders to lug my chests into this room. However,
I want to see what chests the earl has in place. When he opens the lid, I want
him to see my belongings snug against his.”

 
As
she would be snug against him in his bed
. She hugged the thought to
herself.

Inside
the room, Isabeau took a moment to survey the immense space. Everything about the
room was big, from the bed to the wood panels that decorated two of the stone
walls.

She
crossed to the long chest at the foot of the raised bed. It held nothing but
neatly folded blankets and furs for the bed. Isabeau left the lid propped up
and moved to the next. She inspected all the chests, thinking as to how she
would shift Donovan’s belongings to make room for hers. When all the chests
were open, Isabeau stood in the middle of the room and made a circle. She
smiled with approval at her plan. There was plenty of room for her clothing and
other personal items without dragging in her chests. She might bring them in
later, when over the course of their married life they accumulated more
belongings.

She
realized how few personal items her husband had acquired in his travels.
Granted, he did have finery suitable for audience with the king, but very
little, considering all he had done for His Majesty. She concluded that his
service to the king was not frequently spent at court. Most of what she found in
his—their—chests was well and truly battle worn.

She
chewed on her bottom lip. The situation would change, she vowed with silent
determination. Not that she was anxious to be at court, but her husband should
begin to enjoy the comforts he earned. She would be happiest if they remained
at Bennington.   

“I
will take nothing out of these chests. While you make the first trip to my
chamber to bring my belongings, I will stack the earl’s clothing on the right
side of each and leave the left empty. Mine will go on the left. Then we can
both bring my things here. “

With
a heart full of hope, Isabeau instructed Caitlin, “It seems our job will not be
difficult. With a few trips by the two us, we will have no need of other
shoulders. You are missing today’s games, but I promise to make it up to you
for giving you this extra work. I should not have deprived you of the gaieties,
but I so want to surprise the earl.”

As
she adjusted the contents of the chests, Isabeau considered trip from Donovan’s
chamber to her own. The trek seemed much shorter now than the first time she
had followed the path. On that evening, fear had gripped her. Fear of the Earl
of Bennington. Fear of the unknown. She had known it was a test. She had feared
failure. On her return that same night, while still in wonder of Donovan’s
magical touch, she had feared discovery.

Now
she felt only excitement.

Caitlin
brought one bundle from Isabeau’s room.

“Just
put them on the bed,” Isabeau instructed. “I’ll fold them and put them where I wish.
Go bring some more! And close the door. I want this to be a surprise.”

As
Caitlin left, Isabeau smiled as she explored Donovan’s reaction to these
changes. As she bent to scoop up the load of garments, a masculine arm looped
around her neck. The arm yanked her against a solid chest, cutting off her air
in the process. The elbow tightened and Isabeau saw starbursts in front of her
eyes. She clutched at the arm and he released slightly.

“You
do exactly what I tell you—and maybe—just maybe—you will see another sunrise.”

Isabeau
recognized her brother’s voice. She heard a note of madness in his threat. Was
it not madness to assault her—today of all days? She was wed, to the Earl of
Bennington, Simon’s liege lord. She had her husband’s protection. She should
fear nothing from her half-brother now.

“Simon? 
What are you doing here?” She tried to wriggle from her brother’s clammy,
gritty grasp. Ordinary questions would bring him back from madness. “How did
you get here so quickly?”

“Silence,
bitch!” Simon tightened the arm again, cutting off her air. “Understand?”

She
could only gasp and nod when he loosened his grip slightly.

“You
have always been above yourself.” He spat out his accusation. “Now, you are
going to obey my every order as you ever did at Olivet.” He squeezed again,
this time showing the blade he held in his free hand. “Obey my
every
command. You will
beg
to obey.”

Simon’s
arm curved around her throat closing off her air. The knife was pointed against
her chin.