Authors: Madeline Hunter
The doors swung open. She stepped outside.
She froze. “Oh, dear saints,” she gasped.
“Quite a sight, isn't it?” Morvan muttered dryly.
The yard was full of horses and people and transport vehicles. She saw Lady Elizabeth entering one of the painted covered wagons, and other feminine arms dangling from its windows. Knights and lords waited on horses decked out for a pageant. King Edward, resplendent in a gold-embroidered red robe, paced his stallion near the doorway. A long line of royal guards stood waiting.
The presence of so many knights and nobles touched her. They came to honor her family and, perhaps, to reassure her. They also came for her brother's sake, and she was grateful.
The extensive royal entourage, and the obvious instructions that everyone should follow the King in parade, were another matter.
The King gestured and three golden chariots drove forward.
“Oh, dear saints,” she gasped again, watching this final grandiose touch arrive.
“Aye, one is for you. The Queen herself will ride with you,” Morvan explained.
“This retinue will stretch for blocks. All of London will watch this.”
“The King honors you, Christiana.”
She turned away from Edward's smiling gaze and spoke lowly into her brother's shoulder. “I am not stupid, Morvan. The King does not honor me, he honors London. He does not bring Christiana Fitzwaryn to wed David de Abyndon. He brings a daughter of the nobility to marry a son of the city. He turns me into a gift to London and a symbol of his generosity to her.”
He grasped her elbow and eased her forward. “It cannot be undone. You must be our mother's daughter in this and handle it as she would have. I will ride beside you.”
She let him guide her to the front chariot and lift her in. She bent and whispered in his ear. “I will think the whole time how I am not the virgin sacrifice they expect.”
The parade filed out of the yard, led by the King and his sons. By the time they reached the Strand, thick crowds had formed. Inside the city gates it got worse. The guards used their horses to keep the people back. Slowly, with excruciating visibility, they made their way through to St. Paul's Cathedral.
Morvan lifted her off the chariot. “Well, brother, don't you have anything to say to me?” she asked as they approached the entrance. “No words of advice? No lectures on being a dutiful and obedient wife? There is no father to admonish me, so it falls to you, doesn't it?”
He paused on the porch and glanced through the open portal into the cavernous nave filled with noisy courtiers and curious townspeople.
“Aye, I have words for you, but no lectures.” He bent to her ear. “You are a very beautiful girl. There is power for a woman in a man's desire, little sister. Use it well and you will own him and not the other way around.”
She laughed. Smiling, he sped her down the nave.
David waited near the altar. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. He looked magnificent, perfect,
the equal of any lord in attendance. The narrow cut of his long, belted, blue velvet robe enhanced his height. The fitted sleeves made the exaggerated lengths and widths of the other men's fashions look ridiculous and unmanly. Beautiful gold embroidery decorated the edges and center of the garment. She wondered who had convinced him to agree to that. The heavy gold chain stretched from shoulder to shoulder.
Morvan handed her over. Idonia fluttered by, took her cloak, and disappeared. David gazed down at her while the noise of the crowd echoed off the high stone ceiling.
“You are the most beautiful girl whom I have ever met,” he said, repeating the words he had spoken in the ivy garden.
She had a long list of things to upbraid him about, and some deep hurts and misgivings that worried her heart. But the warmth in those blue eyes softened her, and the sound of his beautiful voice soothed her. There would be time enough for worry and hurt. This was her wedding and the whole world watched.
An hour later she emerged from the cathedral with a gold ring around her finger and David de Abyndon's arm around her waist. The chariot awaited but Sieg, looking almost civilized in a handsome gray robe, brought over a horse.
“You will ride with me, darling. With these crowds, those chariots may never make it to the Guildhall.”
“You might have warned me about all of this, David,” she said as pandemonium spilled into the cathedral yard and surrounding streets. “It was like the prelude to an ancient sacrifice.”
“I did not know, but perhaps I should have expected something like this. Edward loves ceremony and pageantry, doesn't he?”
She wasn't convinced. He always seemed to know
everything. She glanced askance at his face as he lifted her onto the saddle and swung up behind. His bland acceptance of Edward's behavior irked her, but then he hadn't been the girl on public display.
“The King must think very highly of you to have brought such an entourage,” she remarked dryly.
“I would be a fool to think so. This had nothing to do with you or me.”
They joined the flow of mounted knights and lords inching toward the Cheap. David's arm encircled her waist, his hand resting beneath her cloak. She reached up and touched the diamond hanging from a silver chain around her neck. It had been delivered while she dressed. “Thank you for the necklace. It went perfectly with the gown.”
“Edmund assured me that it would. I'm pleased that you like it.”
“Edmund?”
“The tailor who made your wedding garments, Christiana. And your betrothal gown. And most of your cotehardies and surcoats over the last few years. His name is Edmund. He is one of the leading citizens of the town of Westminster and an important man in his world.”
She felt herself blush. She knew the tailor's name. She had simply forgotten it just now. But David was telling her that she should know the people who served her and not think of them as nonentities.
Her chagrin quickly gave way to annoyance. She didn't like it that one of the first things her new husband had said to her had been this oblique scolding.
Other reasons for annoyance marched forward in her mind.
“I thought that you would come to see me,” she said.
“We agreed that I would not.”
“All the same, I thought that you would come.”
She felt him looking at her, but he said nothing.
“He is back at court,” she added. “But, of course, you know that, don't you?”
“I know.”
That was it. No questions. Nothing else.
“Didn't you wonder what would happen?” she blurted angrily. “Are you that damn sure of yourself?”
“To have come would have insulted you. I assumed that the daughter of Hugh Fitzwaryn had too much pride and honor to leave her marriage bed and go to another man, especially after she had seen the truth about him.”
“All the same …”
“Christiana,” he interrupted quietly, lowering his mouth to her ear and running his lips along its edge, “we will not speak of this now. I did not come because my days were filled making ready for this wedding. In the time I could steal, I settled business affairs so that I could spend the next three days in bed with you. And my nights were spent thinking about what I would do when I had you there.”
She would have liked to ignore the shiver of excitement that his lips and words summoned, but her body had been betraying her during the nights too and now it responded against her will.
She forced herself to remember his calculating seduction to claim his property. She resented selfconfidence.
“What makes you think that I will choose to spend the next three days that way?” she asked.
“You are my wife now, girl. Surely you know that you only have choices if I give them to you.” He pressed his lips to her temple and spoke more gently. “You will find
that I am a reasonable master, darling. I have always preferred persuasion to command.”
Beneath the full flow of her cloak, he reached up and caressed her breast.
Her body shook with a startling release of pleasure.
She glanced around nervously at the faces turned up to them in smiling curiosity.
He stroked at her nipple and kissed her cheek. She felt the urge to turn and bite his neck. She twisted her head and accepted the deep kiss waiting for her and those wonderful sensations flowed through her like a delicious sigh of relief.
All of London watched.
“David, people …they can see …” she whispered breathlessly when he lifted his head but did not move his hand. His fingers were driving her mad.
“They cannot. Some might suspect, but none can know for sure,” he whispered. “If you are angry with me, you can upbraid me at will after the banquets. I promise to listen very seriously and take all of your criticisms to heart.” He kissed her neck again. “Even as I lick your breasts and kiss your thighs, I will be paying close attention to your scolding. We can discuss my bad behavior between your cries of pleasure.”
She was already having a very hard time remembering what she wanted to scold or discuss.
At about the point when she felt an unrelenting urge to squirm against the saddle, they arrived at the Guildhall. She worried that she would not be able to stand on her languid legs when he lifted her to the ground.
“That wasn't fair,” she hissed.
He took her hand and led her into the Guildhall. “I only play to win, Christiana, and I make my own rules. Haven't you learned that by now?”
CHAPTER 13
D
AVID LEANED IN
the shadows against the threshold of the hall, watching the dancers whirl around the huge bonfire in the center of the courtyard. Couples romped together in a round dance on the periphery of the circle, but near the center a group of women performed an energetic exhibition alone. Oliver's woman Anne led the group, since she danced professionally on occasion when the opportunity and pay were convenient. Serving girls and women from the ward surrounded her. In the thick of it, her face flushed with delight and her eyes sparkling with pleasure, swung the elegant figure of Christiana Fitzwaryn.
The lights from the bonfire seemed to flame over the women in a rhythm that matched the beating drums. The whole courtyard and house glowed from that huge blaze and from the many torches lining the buildings and the back garden. The fires tinted the night sky orange, and from a distance it probably appeared that the house was burning. No doubt the priests would insist that the scene,
with revelers giving themselves over to all of the deadly sins, resembled the inferno of hell itself.
People filled the courtyard, the gardens, and the rooms of the house. Men and woman perched on the roof of the stable. To his left several couples embraced in a dark corner.
A loud laugh caught his attention and he leaned back and glanced into the hall. The milling bodies parted for a moment and he saw the laughing man sitting by the fire with a girl on each knee. The gold embroidery on the red robe was the only proof that this man was a king, for Edward had shed his royal persona as soon as he slipped through the gate with his two guards after sending his wife and family home after the Guildhall banquet. He was well into his cups now, and long ago the party had stopped treating him like the sovereign and simply absorbed him into their merriment.
David returned his attention to his wife. He enjoyed watching her even when she didn't move at all, but her freedom and pleasure in this dance mesmerized him. Like her King, she had quickly succumbed to the unrestrained mood of this second party, and David had delighted in watching her joy as she feasted and drank and traded jests with the neighbors from the ward.
She moved beautifully, languidly, imbuing even this base dance with a noble elegance. Her lips parted in a sensual smile as she twirled around, enjoying at last the ecstasy of movement that she had vicariously felt so often before.
He watched and waited, suppressing the urge to walk to that fire and pick her up and carry her away.
He wanted her. Badly. He had wanted her for weeks, and their night together had only made the wanting more fierce. He had spent the last days in a state of perpetual desire.
Her innocence that day had disarmed him in a dangerous way. Her passion had no defenses, and her total giving and taking had burned down his own. Unlike the experienced women he usually bedded, she knew nothing about protecting herself from the deeper intimacies that could emerge in lovemaking, knew nothing about holding her essence separate from the joining, knew nothing about keeping the act one of simple physical pleasure. She had felt the closeness for what it could be and had simply let the power come and wash over them both. He had seen the wonder of it in her eyes and felt her amazement of it in her grasping embrace and had almost warned her to be careful, for there could be danger and pain in it for her, too. But he had not warned her, for that deep intimacy brought a knowing of her that something inside him craved and in the end he also proved defenseless against the magic that he hadn't felt in so many years.
His gaze followed her, his body responding to the seductive moves of her dance. In his mind's eye she looked up at him and touched his face and his chest and sighed an “aye” that asked for all of himself.
A figure strolled in front of him, mercifully distracting his heated thoughts. Morvan drank some wine as he walked, casually surveying the dancers.
The drums and timbrels beat out a frenzied finale and then the dance ended abruptly. All around the fire, bodies stopped and heaved deep breaths from their exertions. Christiana and Anne embraced with a laugh.
She thought that Anne was Oliver's wife. He would have to tell her the truth, he supposed.
Morvan caught Christiana's eye and gestured for her. She skipped over to him with a broad smile. He bent and said something, and David watched the happiness and pleasure fall from her face and her body like someone had stripped it off.
She threw her arms around him and spoke earnestly, entreating him no doubt to stay longer. Morvan shook his head, caressed her face, and pulled away.
He walked toward the gate. Christiana gazed after him, her straight body suddenly alone and isolated despite the crowd milling around her. David could see her composed expression but he had no trouble reading the sadness in her.