Candle in the Window (25 page)

Saura broke into their sparring, turning her face
out of William’s chest. “Hurry then, my lord. We await
you in the great hall.” She withdrew from William’s
grasp and tucked her hand into his arm.

“You look well kissed,” he told her.
“Are you ready to face them all?”

“I’m proud that all know my lord
desires me.” She tossed her head in disdain of opinion, and
privately thought she was glad that all would know he’d
protect her. Again she remembered that ghoulish whisper in the
yard, and she
pressed closer to William. He led
her back toward the room filled with gossiping folk.

He had watched the embrace, watched as his friend
swept that woman off her feet and kissed her until both were
senseless, and he raged and he lusted. Raged at William, powerful
lord of all he desired. Lusted after Saura, delicate and misguided
enough to want William. When he had first seen her, he’d only
wanted to crush her, stomp her into the earth for reviving
William’s appetite for life. Now he wanted her as William
wanted her, wanted her because she was William’s; wanted her
to savor her beauty; wanted her because William wanted her.

He clenched his fists. He’d woo her, be her
unseen admirer, assure her of her beauty when no one else could
hear. He’d touch her, too, soothe the fears she’d felt
when he called her beautiful. He’d take her from William
before he killed him. Then he’d be satisfied. When William
was humbled and then murdered, he’d surely be satisfied.

Raymond seated himself, and answered
the shouted questions between mouthfuls of food. Admiration for
Henry colored his every word. “Henry’s twenty-one,
young enough to be energetic. He wears out his associates with his
breakneck vigor. He seldom sits, his senses are always alert. But
he rules his lands in France with wisdom.”

“To be a duke is not to be the king,”
William objected.

“Between the inheritance he received from his
father, the counties he rules for his mother, and the counties he
acquired from his marriage with Eleanor, he rules a greater area of
France than his overlord, King Louis. He can handle the mantle of
royalty for England.”

“Stephen?” Lord Peter asked.

Shaking his head, Raymond delicately discouraged
any hopes about the current king’s health.
“Stephen’s a broken man. The death of his son put the
final period on his hopes.
The useless
campaigns, the treachery of the barons—he could never
solidify his claims to the throne.”

“’Tis treason you speak,”
Nicholas suggested, and Raymond turned and considered him.

“I don’t even know what treason is
anymore. If my words encourage the growth of a healthy England,
then let those words spring forth.” He grinned at Nicholas,
showing all his teeth. “If any lord wishes to steal and kill
and plunder, he’d better do it now, and do it well. Law will
return to the land. Henry will bring it, and woe betide the man who
gets in his way.” He swung to look at Charles, then back at
Nicholas, and a message passed from Raymond to his friends.

Saura shivered at the tone of his voice. As
she’d promised herself, she’d listened to the speeches
and they left her troubled and confused.

Raymond meant more than he said, Nicholas said too
little, and Charles mumbled in the excess of drink. Or was it
guilt? She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell. Her usual
sharp instincts were clouded by fear for William, and since last
night, fear for herself.

It seemed so odd, but her unease had been growing
during the past week. Some instinct warned her of treachery and
stealth. She hadn’t really even been surprised when that
voice hoarsely declared her beautiful, but she had been frightened.
And doubtful. Her fancies had conjured a menace; now her fancies
conjured a voice and a presence. And her perplexity grew, for she
still felt that menace. She felt it right now. She flinched;
someone was staring at her. Even when he didn’t speak, even
when she couldn’t hear that hoarse whisper, she could feel
those eyes on her, and it made her want to squirm.

“Saura?” William spoke close in her
ear, interrupting her discomfort and patting balm on her fears.
“’Tis time.”

Blank for a moment, she remembered and grimaced.
“For the
mêlée?
Of
course.”

He helped her away from the table, and she retained
his hand. “I’ll help arm you,” she informed
him.

“My squire is here for that,” he
said.

“As if I didn’t know.” She tugged
at him. “Come, you’ll find no better help than
I.”

“I’m too easily persuaded by you, my
lady,” he rumbled, following her like a lamb.

“You’re a fraud,” she scoffed.
“You tell me I am in charge, when you only do as I suggest if
it follows your own convenience.”

“That I should be reduced to such
chicanery,” he mourned with false sadness. He checked behind;
young Guilliame followed on their heels. The three of them entered
the solar and he saw his clothes laid out on the bed. “Are
you both to be my squires?”

“You’re not the first man I’ve
dressed for battle,” Saura answered, shutting the door. She
found the stool that waited beside the bed and dragged it to the
center of the room where William waited. Climbing up, she pulled
his embroidered surcoat off and carefully passed it to Guilliame.
Guilliame folded it, placed it in the open chest and returned with
the padding William wore beneath his hauberk. With a smooth
teamwork, Saura and the squire stripped him and reclothed him, then
hefted the hauberk over his head and buckled his sword on. The
hauberk shone, free from rust, and his sword was honed to a fine
edge. The leather of his boots gleamed with oil and the leather of
his gloves moved with supple ease. His gilded spurs clanked as he
strode around the room, pleased with his return to the world of the
knight.

“But I have no helmet.” He frowned.
“My own was crushed in the accident. Didn’t the armorer
send one up?”

“We thought you could try this one
first,” Saura replied calmly. From her own chest, she pulled
a fine helmet, banded with iron and protected by a nose guard.
“It was my father’s. ’Tis the only memento of him
I have retained. How my mother saved it, I’ll never know. He
was a large man, too, they tell me, and perhaps this will fit you.
If not, there’s another waiting.”

She held it out to him with both hands, and he took
it, handling it with care. She said, “The armorer inspected
it. He says it’s in good condition, although old-fashioned.
The conical shape is called a basinet, I believe?”

He examined her face, and she looked serene,
waiting only for his approval. Red and lush as an apple in the
fall, her lips curved in a gentle smile. Like a prayer, her hands
rested before her, and she waited in delicate expectancy. Trying
the helmet on, he was surprised to find it fit. Big hands, big
feet, big head, his father teased him, but it seemed Saura’s
father fit the description also. “Thank you, my lady. I am
honored to wear your father’s helmet.”

“You’re sure it fits properly?”
she questioned. “’Tis not so large it slips, not so
small it binds?”

“’Tis perfect,” he assured
her.

“In that case, it is my wedding present to
you.” A smile broke across her face like sunshine.
“Wear it as my token.”

He stepped close and caught her in his arms, and
her hands flew up around his neck in a desperate hug. The links of
his armor pricked at her, but she clenched him in a fervor and then
broke away. “I’ll be waiting for you to bring me the
prizes.” She smiled at him again, and her mouth trembled. He
leaned down to kiss away her silliness. The kiss, of necessity, was
light and insignificant. The nose guard bumped her
cheek, and they were aware of Guilliame waiting in
the room. But as William strode out, she touched her lips with her
fingers, treasuring the token he left her in return.

Maud entered the room almost before William had
left. “Come, m’lady, I’ll take ye to your seat in
the gallery. As the bride, ye have the place of honor.”

“Where everyone can watch me, I
suppose,” Saura said glumly. “I’ll have to appear
confident and at ease.”

“William’s a great warrior,” Maud
soothed. “Ye
can
be confident and
at ease. He’ll not disappoint ye.”

“He has enemies.” She bit her lip.
Should she tell Maud about the feeling that had been creeping up on
her these last few days? The feeling that grew as the crowd around
them swelled? The feeling of malevolence, the sound of a whisper in
the dark?

“He has more friends. Ye’re being
ridiculous.”

Maud scolded her, and the worry slipped away. Her
maid’s common sense helped persuade her she deceived herself,
and she listened to Maud and was comforted.

“Lord Peter’s fighting, and he assured
me he’d never let his son out of his sight. Not even a fool
would harm Lord William in his own bailey surrounded by his own
family and friends.”

“Not a fool,” she said soberly.
“But a madman.”

Maud grasped Saura’s shoulders and shook her
firmly. “Give Lord William credit. He’ll not widow ye
before ye’re a wife.” She brushed Saura’s gown
with her hand, straightened her belt, resettled her veil. “Ye
are worthy to be the center of all eyes. Ye’re gorgeous in
these clothes Lord Peter gifted ye with. Now go out and make him
proud. Ye’re the hostess. Ye’re the bride. Ye’re
the guest of honor. Remember who ye are, and never lower your
chin.”

As the stern encouragement sank in, Saura nodded
and took Maud’s arm. “I’m ready.”

She made her way outside to the gallery where the
ladies watched the mêlée, and she did look like a queen.
More than one guest envied her the blue linen bliaut that turned
her eyes to the color of hyacinths. The scarlet cotte accented the
black wing of her hair and the belt, woven with scarlet and blue
and precious gold thread, focused the gaze of all on the slender
sway of her hips. Young and beautiful—and blind—she had
stolen a great marriage prize. She settled herself in the chair on
the little raised dais as if she could see the fighting, and she
appeared to have her nose in the air, for she neither smiled nor
greeted anyone.

She had no friends among these neighbors. The
anarchy of the past fourteen years had limited travel. Bandits
ruled the road and dishonorable lords laid waste and took what they
wanted. It took a major event to bring the people out, and then
they rode quickly, surrounded by bodyguards and bristling with
armament. No respectable lady would visit Theobald’s infamous
castle, ruled by a cowardly lord and rife with licentiousness.

Saura’s years of isolation had effectively
placed her away from noble society, and many who attended
William’s wedding were of the highest nobility. Earls rubbed
shoulders with landed barons. Their wives knew one another from
other weddings, other funerals. They traded their sons for
fostering. Saura felt the great gap when the women called greetings
with the comradery of old acquaintanceship. All around her buzzed
the news of babes newborn and pregnancies just begun, of
grandparents who ailed and husbands who strayed. She wished she
knew someone, just one person, to whom she could speak and smile
and not feel as if she were breaking in like a bold-faced
hussy.

She’d never felt so unsure. She was failing
as hostess. She knew how to feed a hungry army, how to provision a
castle, but never had she been forced to mingle with a group of
strange women. Her hands were clumsy and she tucked her feet far
beneath her skirt.

Why did it have to be now? She desperately needed
someone to tell her what was happening on the field in front of
her. She squeezed her fingers tightly in her lap. She didn’t
think she could bear to sit there like some marble statue while her
love fought to recover his skill and his pride and she was not to
know what happened.

Anxiety wrapped itself around her as she heard the
teams lining up on opposite sides of the bailey. The clank of
spears and the muffled snort of horses, the smell of the sunshine
on the grass and the slowly rising dust marked the preparations of
the knights. The gallery sat against the outer stone curtain wall,
out of the sun and out of the way, and she knew a wooden wall
protected the rows of benches from the accidental incursions of
horse and knight. Mêlées were dangerous, dangerous enough
that the Church strove to control them with bans, but for the
knights who fought for prizes and glory and practice, they were a
glorious imitation when battles were too few.

Lord Peter shouted for quiet, and announced the
prize. A war-horse, an unbroken destrier from his own stables,
would be presented to the warrior who was judged most deserving.
The destrier snorted and pranced, displaying his fierce
temperament. Amid jeers and laughter, Lord Peter assured them he
would take himself and his son out of the running, for all knew no
one could vanquish such knights as they. Saura heard the panting of
the stable boys as they fought the destrier back into the stable.
She heard Lord Peter ride to his end of the field, and then someone
thrust a handkerchief
into her hand and
whispered, “Hold it aloft, then drop it!” She did, and
with a roar of hooves and the war shouts of the men, the
mêlée began. She heard the first clashes as lance met
shield and heard the ring of the swords as those unhorsed fought on
foot. Women stood around her, calling the names of their men in
encouragement.

“Wilfred, get up and beat that
blackguard!”

“A fine stroke, Jourdain!”

“Did you see Philip’s lance shatter!
Oh, he’s angry now.”

No one mentioned William’s name, and
Saura’s muscles contracted, winding her in coils of fearful
imagination. When the ladies’ shouting suddenly stopped,
halted by some extraordinary circumstance, Saura blenched and
begged, “What is it?”

The woman next to her, the wife of an earl and
daughter of an earl, and outspoken with the privilege of rank, told
her, “I’ve never seen this before. Lord Nicholas does
not fight today, and he’s coming to sit with the
ladies!” The horror in Lady Jane’s voice made clear the
indecency of such an action.

“He says he doesn’t ride well or fight
well,” Saura said timidly, unsure how to respond to such
outrage.

“Then he should go out on the field and get
knocked off his horse,” the lady next to her snapped.
“Do you think all of these knights before us are warriors?
Some of them are already so drunk they can hardly sit a horse, like
Sir Charles. God’s teeth, he’s down already! Some of
them would do better if their wives wore their armor.”

Saura laughed in relief. “Are they so awful?
Then perhaps I shouldn’t fret, for my William is a great
warrior.”

The ring of pride made Lady Jane look at her
sharply, but before she could speak, Nicholas’s soft voice
interrupted. “May I sit with you, Lady Saura?” He
sounded polite and
urbane, but he failed to
wait for her consent as he squeezed onto the end of the bench,
pushing Lady Jane aside. Saura could hear Lady Jane sputtering, and
she wished with all her heart Nicholas hadn’t made her the
cynosure of all eyes. Then he gathered her hand in his. “You
looked so alone, sitting here, and my heart twisted with pity. I
knew how you must be worried. I wished to tell you about the
dangers William is encountering. I thought it would be better than
leaving you to your imagining.”