Candle in the Window (27 page)

She started forward with a regal sweep, and a nasty
whisper appeared from nowhere. “Lady Saura couldn’t see
a shadow anyway.”

Jane ignored it, allowing the hovering maid to open
the door and entering the solar, all the women on her heels. Saura
sat enthroned on a chair with bread and wine on a tray before her.
A robe of brown wool overwhelmed her with its size; obviously, it
belonged to William and the rolled-up sleeves and drooping
shoulders made her look petite, like a
child.
With an inquiring lift to her eyebrow, she asked, “How may I
assist you?”

“We come to help you prepare for your
wedding,” Jane said. Mindful of her failings the day before,
she introduced the women by name. “Lady Bertha’s here,
Lady Edina and Lady Duana, Mary, Earlene, Isolde, Loretta, Valerie,
Melbia, and Juletta. I’m Lady Jane.”

“I remember you,” Saura said.
“Welcome, ladies.”

“Has your maid laid out your
clothes?”

“On the bed, m’lady.” Maud
curtseyed, her jaw clamped firmly over the words she wanted to
say.

Jane turned at Maud’s tone and examined the
serving woman. A faithful retainer, she decided, jealous of having
her place usurped on this most important day. With a patience only
few suspected, she explained, “’Tis a tradition for the
ladies to dress the bride. It distracts her mind from the ordeal
ahead. For some reason, the thought of a wedding and the night
following causes a trembling in the limbs,” she lifted
Saura’s shaking hand, “and a lack of appetite. Have you
finished eating?”

“As much as I can choke down,” Saura
admitted, biting her lip.

“Come then.” Lady Jane whisked away the
tray. “Has the priest been in? Good. If you’ve
confessed and eaten, we’ll proceed.” Saura’s
color faded before her eyes, and Jane cast around for a distraction
and found one in her blunt and honest friend. “Do you
remember, Bertha, how frightened you were at your first
wedding?”

“I was twelve and my husband was eleven. God
knows why I was worried about that little thing.” Bertha
laughed with boisterous amusement, and the other women relaxed. A
few chuckled at the well-worn story, and Saura smiled slightly.

Jane lifted her to her feet. “’Tis
nerve-racking to stand
before hundreds of
witnesses and swear to submit your properties and your self to a
man, but at least William’s no stranger.”

“I met your stepfather last night,”
Bertha said. “You must be dancing at the thought of leaving
him.”

“Theobald?” Saura asked.
“Theobald’s here?”

“He came in late, escorted by Lord
Peter’s men. What a turd!” Bertha clicked her tongue.
“He must be here to legalize your union, but how any woman
could live with such cruelty.”

“You’ve seen him once and you know
he’s cruel?” Lady Duana asked, a twist of incredulity
distorting her face

“He reminds me of my second husband,”
Bertha answered flatly. “You recognize them after a while.
Bullies who drink too much wine and beat their women for sport. Did
you see that bruise on his wife’s cheek?”

“Where’s my stepmother, Lady
Blanche?” Saura asked. “Didn’t she want to come
in?”

“I know not,” Jane replied.
“Theobald wouldn’t let her out from beneath him. They
lay in the great hall, wrapped in a blanket, and he puffs and
groans like a bull to prove his manhood to any that
listen.”

“Oo, I’m impressed,” Bertha said.
“Aren’t you, ladies?”

“Oo,” the women hummed, and one voice
spoke from the crowd. “I’m especially impressed by his
speed. He’s so quick!”

“Oo,” they hummed again, and then they
laughed.

Jane stripped the robe from Saura and she stood as
bare as a babe. Gaping, the women crowded around her in a circle.
“Well!” Jane pronounced briskly. “Now we see why
William insists on marrying you.”

Bertha sighed. “Ah, well, we all looked like
that once.”

“At nineteen?” Jane snapped.

“I had three children by nineteen,”
Bertha returned, “by two husbands.”

“Please, ladies,” Saura begged.
“I’m damp from my wedding bath and the chill of the
morning air.”

“Dress the child before she freezes,”
Bertha advised, and one of the others lifted the blue bliaut and
slipped it over Saura’s head.

Jane reached out and touched the rose wool cotte,
as fine a weave as she had ever seen, and sighed. “How lucky
you are, Lady Saura, to be able to wear such jeweled
colors.”

Saura smiled and let them tighten the front lace of
the cotte. “Pull it tight,” Bertha ordered, “and
I’ll make sure I keep my eye on my husband. He hasn’t
seen a waist that size in years.”

“Old Frederick wouldn’t dare look at
anyone else,” said Lady Duana. “He’s too afraid
of your wicked tongue.”

This began a quarrel well honed by time, and Bertha
swung on Duana with a vengeance. “Old
Frederick—”

A pounding at the door interrupted them, and Jane
nodded at Maud. She opened the door and accepted two bundles
swaddled in canvas.

“Bride gift!” Jane said.

“Bride gift?” Saura asked, puzzled.
Then she brightened. “A present?”

“From William. Would you like me to open it
for you?” Jane asked.

“Oh, nay. Put it on the bed. I’ll open
it.” With greedy hands, she stripped the rough cloth from the
oblong package while she chatted, “I’ve not had a gift
since my mother died.” A bolt of cloth appeared, and she
found the end and unrolled it carefully. Under her fingers bloomed
a royal cloth.

Purple rippled in the light, gleaming and glowing
and drawing forth sighs and groans of delight.

Saura wasn’t looking toward it at all, which
broke the illusion of sight she fostered with her competent ways
and graceful movements. Her head was up, a frown of concentration
knit her brow, and her fingertips stroked with the grain, against
the grain, back and forth. “Silk.” She raised it to her
cheek, stroked it across her skin with the sensuous enjoyment of a
cat. “I’ve never felt it in my life, but I know it.
Silk.”

“Your mother never had as fine,” Maud
breathed.

“Not many women do,” Jane said
ironically. “That color’s reserved for princes, and for
the very few who have the wealth to buy. God knows how William
found that. There can’t be another bolt of such material on
this isle. It shows his worth, and how much he treasures
you.”

“Look, it matches her eyes.” Bertha
pointed where the shimmering purple met Saura’s face, and the
cloth did deepen the violet to a purple, bringing its rich shimmer
to her eyes.

“She’d be a fool to listen to poems
when she can have that,” Duana said, her voice clear and
sharp with envy.

“Poetry bores me. ’Tis too often the
result of hard work, contrived efforts and no talent.” Saura
raised her head from the shining stuff and those purple eyes seemed
to gaze directly at Duana. “’Tis nothing but a song
without music.”

Duana’s mouth dropped open, and Jane laughed
with triumphant amusement. “Duana’s eaten with envy
that no man addresses poetry to her, and you dismiss it as a bore.
Now she has something else to envy.” Jane’s hand
sneaked out and touched the silk as if she couldn’t resist.
“But there’s another package.”

“More?” Saura’s hands fluttered
over the blanket until she
found the second
bundle. Its surface sank as she pressed it, but it was stitched
together with twine and didn’t yield its secrets easily. Jane
drew her knife and cut the basting, and the canvas sprang loose,
propelled by the release of the contents.

“Dear Holy Mother of Jesus,” Jane
breathed.

Rich ebony furs caught the light and Saura’s
hands. She plunged her fingers into the pelts, scattering them
across the silk. “So soft,” she sighed.
“Feel.” She swung on her heel and thrust one close to
Jane’s face, and Jane, in her astonishment, laid her cheek
against it.

“’Tis gorgeous,” she choked,
overwhelmed by the fierce joy on Saura’s face, the pleasure
of a child given an unexpected treat.

“Tell me about them,” Saura demanded,
holding it out for the next lady.

Bertha came to exclaim and pet the fur, and the
other women crowded around, waiting their turn as Jane said lamely,
“They’re black.”

Bertha rolled her eyes at her friend, and Jane
realized how little she saw with her blessed sight. Steadying
herself, she considered what the blind girl would want to know and
described, “The pelts are small, but the fur is luxurious.
They’re sable, and they match your hair in sheen and color.
With a gown of the purple silk trimmed with the ebony furs,
you’ll be the most beautiful woman in the new
court.”

“There are twenty-four pelts here,”
Duana said in disgust, sorting through the furs with the avarice of
a miser. “Does he want to drape her in fur?”

From the great hall, the ladies could hear William
roaring, “Does she like them?”

Bertha jerked her head toward the sound.
“Apparently he does want to drape her in them. He could have
sent her gold
or jewels to display his regard
to the folk, but he sent the presents she could enjoy. I’d
never have suspected the thoughtfulness of that scarred
warrior.”

Saura clasped the pelt to her chest and flushed
with gratitude. “He’s the gentlest man I
know.”

The women remembered the shambles on the field the
day before and raised collective eyebrows.

She continued, “And he owes it to Lady Jane.
She taught him deportment.”

Jane brayed with laughter. “He was always
thoughtful, but a bit complacent with his position. You’ve
been good for him, Lady Saura, you have shaken him from his
composure.”

William’s voice blared from the great hall.
“Is she ready?” And more quietly, but they could hear
him, “Damn it, what are those women doing in
there?”

The ladies exchanged grins and Bertha lifted the
hose from the bed. Jane waved her away and asked, “Lady
Saura, are you warm enough?”

“Aye,” Saura answered, startled and
never suspecting the ploy.

“In that case, we’ll leave off the hose
and put you in only your shoes. After the ceremony, let William
know you’re naked beneath your gown, and your first mating
tonight will not be your last.”

“Why, Jane,” Bertha cackled.
“You’ve grown quite wicked.”

“Married women have to be inventive,”
Jane retorted. “It piques the male interest. Besides, the
ladies will have the pleasure of watching him squirm.”

“As you say,” Saura answered.
“Still, I would not be happy if the other men should discover
my state.”

“They won’t.” Bertha reached one
arm over and pinched Duana’s ear between beefy fingers.
“Will they, Duana?”

“Nay, nay.” Duana squirmed, trying to
get away. “I’ll not tell a soul.”

The other women hastily agreed, and Saura stepped
into her slippers.

“By God, where is the woman?”
William’s bellow had a sharper tone to it, and the ladies
laughed out loud.

“We’d better get out there before he
starts pounding on the door,” Jane said.

“Aye, and you know what he’d be
pounding with.” Bertha dropped a slow, wicked wink and
sauntered toward the door. As Maud opened it the women spilled out
into the great hall, blocking William’s view of his
bride.

“Leave her hair down.” Giving one last
order to Maud, Jane backed out. “William stopped me and
insisted that Saura’s hair be left loose. He says he
doesn’t care that she’s not a virgin on her wedding
bed—’twas him that picked the flower, and she’ll
not be denied her honor.”

“Aye, m’lady.” Maud curtseyed and
shut the door behind them. Lifting a brush, she sat Saura on a
stool in front of her and brushed the gleaming locks.
“She’s not so bad, once ye know her. And your lord
William is a bonny man. Beautiful to the eye and with a sweetness
to his soul. Marriage to him will be your rescue. He’ll keep
ye safe and give ye babes and ye’ll lead the life of a fine
lady. Perhaps if this Prince Henry they’re talking about
brings the peace, ye’ll go to court and make your curtsey
before the king. God speed the day!” Arranging two tendrils
artistically over Saura’s shoulders, Maud said, “There
now, your hair’s almost dry, with a curl to it that
can’t be tamed. Stand up and go out there and fulfill my
fondest desire.”

Saura didn’t move, and Maud put an arm around
her and hugged her. “Go on, now. No time for wedding
nerves.”

“I can’t,” Saura said in a small
voice.

Maud checked in her tracks. “Of course ye
can!”

“I can’t.” Saura’s voice
strengthened as the curl of panic ate at her courage. “How
did I ever think I could?”

“’Tis not a question of can or
can’t, m’lady. Ye have a bridegroom and a priest and
your stepfather and a cartload of folk standing out there
waitin’ for ye. Ye have to.”

“All those people sneering at me for dreaming
I could marry and be happy,” Saura said wretchedly. She
gripped the seat of the stool so tightly her knuckles stained
white. “I’m sorry, but how can an ugly blind girl wed a
wealthy lord like William? You said go to court? Where I could fall
on my face and shame him? I’m not a fine lady. I can’t
marry him.”

“Ye’ve proved ye can handle yourself
with these titled folk. Why, ye have those ladies eating out of
your hand. The meals have been planned to perfection, ye’ve
handled all the attention with grace and dignity.”

“I’ll just have to explain to
William,” Saura decided, not listening to Maud’s
reassurances. “We can be like you and Lord Peter. Just share
a bed and not be married.”

“Lord William must have a wife, m’lady.
Where would ye go when she arrived?”

“I just have to go out there and tell
him.” She gripped the stool harder, frozen in place.

Provoked by her lady’s stubborn fear, Maud
snapped, “I’m a serving woman and Peter’s a lord.
’Tis happy I am to share his bed; he’s given me
pleasure I thought I’d never see again. But ye’re a
lady, the daughter of a baron, a pure-blooded Norman. There’s
no comparison between ye and me. Ye can’t stay here in
William’s bed like some lowborn tart.”