Patricia Ryan - [Fairfax Family 01] (34 page)

“Annulled!” She tried to sit up, but pain speared her head, and she sank back onto the pillow.

“Easy.” He leaned close, his hands cradling her head. “If I could arrange it, would you want that?”

“My God, do you have to ask?”

He chuckled. “I just had to be sure it was what you wanted before I start making inquiries. It ought to be a simple matter to annul an unconsummated marriage. Brother Matthew’s an expert on canon law. We’ll talk to him this evening.”

She frowned. “This evening? Are we going to St. Dunstan’s?”

He nodded. “It isn’t safe for you here. Edmond is undoubtedly still in Hastings—he’s in no condition to ride. But Bernard and his men are here. I’ve sent Felda and Peter to collect the rest of your clothes and belongings—”

“What about Loki? And my lockbox, with my herbs?”

“Them, too. And as soon as they’re back, we’ll leave.”

*   *   *

“I’m sorry,” Brother Matthew repeated. Martine admired his patience even as she lamented his words. “But you can’t annul a marriage simply because it wasn’t consummated. It won’t work.”

“That’s outrageous,” Thorne said, bolting to his feet.

“Outrageous or not, it’s canon law,” Matthew said. His fierce, dark eyes and great tonsured shock of hair, as black as his cowled robe, were a sharp contrast to his quiet intelligence.

“Damn!” Thorne strode to the one small window in the central hall of the prior’s lodge. Martine and Matthew, sitting at the table, watched his back as he leaned on the windowsill, peering into the night sky and shaking his head.

Martine picked Loki up off the floor and hugged him. She had spoken barely a word since their arrival that afternoon at St. Dunstan’s. Too weakened to ride, she’d had no choice but to make the trip in a curtained litter. Despite having slept most of the way, her head cradled in Felda’s lap, she ached all over and felt incapable of speaking on her own behalf. Luckily, Thorne was willing to do that for her.

The Saxon slammed his fist down on the windowsill and wheeled around. “‘Tis an obscenity that she should be chained in marriage to this...
animal
, simply because of the Church’s narrow-minded—”

“The Church has her ways,” Matthew said quietly. “There are more grounds for annulment than laymen are generally aware of,” Matthew said. He paused meaningfully. “Most notably, impotence.”

Thorne stared at Matthew. “Impotence,” he said, as if testing the sound of the word.

“It’s used successfully all the time,” Matthew said. “And in my judgment, I believe it to offer the lady her best chance for an official dissolution of the union. Actually, her only chance.”

Matthew and Thorne regarded each other in silence for a moment, and then both turned and looked toward Martine as if to say,
Give us your permission and we’ll proceed
.

Impotence
. It was an ugly word, a shameful word, a word to spawn dark whispers and giggles. The thought of making a formal and public charge of it repelled her. She closed her eyes. She felt exhausted; her head throbbed. In her imagination, Edmond’s face loomed close, his yellowed teeth bared by a feral sneer, his smell stinging her nostrils, his meaty arms grabbing her, hurling her toward the bed, toward pain and darkness.

Shuddering, she opened her eyes, met Thorne’s, and nodded. “Do what you must,” she said, then rose and went to her chamber.

*   *   *

Thorne, sitting next to Martine on a bench in the corner of Brother Matthew’s office, watched in pensive silence as the prior handed the petition for annulment across the central table to Father Simon. The priest held the document close to his face and squinted as he read.

In the opposite corner sat Bernard and Edmond, deep in whispered conversation. Or, rather, Bernard whispered while his brother, his face still faintly bruised, stared sullenly at the floor. When Simon finished reading the petition, he joined the two men in their corner, leaning over and murmuring something in Bernard’s ear.

“Impotence?” Bernard exclaimed.

“What’s that?” Edmond muttered.

Father Simon mumbled something.

Edmond bolted to his feet. “
What?
”

Bernard rose and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Edmond, I told you to keep your mouth—”

“You fucking witch!” Edmond screamed at Martine, stabbing the air with his fists as Bernard and Simon held him back. “This is your doing!”

“Shut up, Edmond!” Bernard hissed, shoving his brother back onto the bench. “Let me handle this. I told you.” Holding Edmond down by his shoulders, he bent over and whispered into his ear for a few moments. “All right?” Thorne heard him say. Edmond hung his head, his hair obscuring his face. “
All right?
” Bernard repeated. Edmond nodded without looking up.

Bernard turned around and straightened his tunic. “We do not consent to an annulment. Edmond and the lady Martine must remain married.”

Edmond buried his head in his hands.

“Oh, God,” Martine whispered. Thorne patted her arm, wishing he could do more—take her hand, gather her in his arms—but knowing that any hint of impropriety at this stage of the negotiations would be ruinous for her. He hesitated to so much as look at her, lest his feelings for her show on his face.

Matthew stood and addressed Bernard. “If Edmond cooperates with the annulment, the matter will be handled as discreetly as possible. The charge of impotence need never become public knowledge. But should he object in any way, the lady will not hesitate to pursue her cause all the way to Pope Alexander—and then, I assure you, there will be no way to keep the circumstances confidential.”

“Your threats change nothing, monk,” Bernard said. “We refuse to cooperate in any way with a dissolution of this marriage.”

Matthew said, “You do know that all of the holdings that were given up to Lady Martine upon her marriage will revert to Lord Godfrey upon annulment.”

“Of course.”

“Then why do you object?” the prior demanded.

Thorne stood and strode to the center of the room. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because that creature”—he pointed to Edmond, who looked up and glared at him—“will never be able to remarry after what he did to Lady Martine. Everyone at the castle saw her when I brought her back that morning. Christ, she looked as if she’d been attacked by a pack of wild dogs. All of Sussex must know about it by now.”

Father Simon took a step forward. “How Sir Edmond chooses to discipline his wife is no one’s business but his. This marriage must not be dissolved for the simple reason that it was solemnized under the eyes of God, and can only be rescinded by God’s will. ‘Twill end when Sir Edmond or Lady Martine departs from this world, and not a moment before.”

Thorne laughed humorlessly. “Since when did Edmond start caring about God’s will?”

Bernard crossed his arms. “We are prepared to offer a compromise of sorts, if the lady is prepared to listen.”

All eyes turned to Martine, who nodded hesitantly.

“Annulment, as I said, is out of the question,” Bernard stated flatly. “Understand, my lady, that without our cooperation, the struggle to obtain such an annulment could take years. During this ordeal, perfect strangers will be prying into matters of an exceedingly intimate nature. It could prove quite unpleasant for you, and there is no guarantee that your cause will triumph.”

“Your offer?” Thorne prodded impatiently.

“Providing you cease all efforts at annulment, my lady, you may remain here at St. Dunstan’s and return in your own good time to Edmond, who is prepared to forgive your lack of wifely humility and take you back.”

“Return!” She shook her head vehemently. “Never!”

“It’s our only offer,” Bernard said.

Martine rose. “I’ll pursue the annulment.”

Bernard shook his head. “I warn you, my lady, you’ll find us formidable opponents. My brother will emphatically deny all charges of impotence.”

“The lady states that the marriage was never consummated,” Matthew pointed out.

“Edmond will testify that it was,” Bernard said. Thorne saw Edmond glance uncomfortably at his brother and then nod, his gaze on the floor. “It’s a simple matter of her word against his.”

“Not necessarily,” Matthew said. “It’s perfectly within Lady Martine’s power to prove that she has never engaged in the marital act. All that’s required is that she submit to an examination by a physician.” Matthew turned to Martine. “I trust you have no objection to such an examination, my lady?”

Martine looked helplessly toward Thorne, who shook his head fractionally.
Christ, what now?

“My lady?” Matthew prompted.

“May I speak to you in private a moment, Brother?” she asked.

Matthew led Martine out of the room. When they returned a short while later, the prior pinned Thorne with a quick, knowing look. To Bernard he said, “As it happens, Lady Martine’s tender sensibilities do, indeed, preclude such an examination. And as a lady of gentle breeding, it seems that she does not, after all, relish the loss of privacy required by a petition for annulment.”

Thorne exhaled heavily and shook his head. Defeat ill suited him.

Bernard smiled his mirthless smile. “Can I take it that means she accepts our offer?”

“Aye,” said Matthew, “as long as it’s clearly understood that the lady may remain as a guest at St. Dunstan’s for an indefinite period, and will not be abducted—”

“Certainly not,” Bernard said.

“—or pressured in any way to return to her husband’s home.”

Bernard nodded. “You have my word. And,” he added, seemingly as an afterthought, “my brother’s as well, of course.”

*   *   *

Martine waited gravely in the cool, dark stable as Thorne saddled up his white stallion in preparation for returning to Harford. It had been agreed that she would remain at St. Dunstan’s for the next year or two, until Rainulf returned from pilgrimage and could take her to Oxford with him. This went over poorly with Matthew’s superior abbot, but his reservation about allowing a woman to live at the priory dissolved when Martine donated to his abbey a few of the gold coins that Rainulf had given her. Nevertheless, the abbot had commanded Brother Matthew to establish a strict code of behavior for Martine. She was to dress as modestly as a nun, attend mass every morning, avoid the brothers as much as possible, and conduct herself in general with the utmost decorum. Any violation of this code would result in immediate ouster from St. Dunstan’s. As Matthew had explained it to her, a monastery was refuge for men who had given up all worldly temptations, including women, and it would therefore be cruel to expose them to what they couldn’t have.

It was Thorne who negotiated for her, who made the arrangements, who took care of everything. Martine appreciated his efforts on her behalf, but knew that he went to the trouble primarily to fulfill his promise to Rainulf. It was hard to fathom how he really felt about her. If he did care for her, it was surely not as deeply as she cared for him. It shamed her to admit to herself how much she did care, despite how he had wronged her, and to acknowledge how very badly she would miss him when he was gone.

When the Saxon’s preparations were finished, he came and took both of her hands in his. For a few long moments, he merely looked down at her, his eyes sad and iridescent in the semidarkness. Martine was afraid to speak, lest her voice betray the depth of her sorrow at his departure.

He turned her hands over and studied them as he rubbed her palms with his thumbs. “I’ll come back for a visit in the spring.”

Martine swallowed and nodded.
The spring?
It would be half a year before she saw him again!

“You’ll be safe here,” he said quietly. “Perhaps even happy. You’ll have Felda with you, and you like St. Dunstan’s.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He released her left hand to gently stroke her bruised cheek and lower lip, barely mended from where it had been split. “Does it still hurt?” he asked.

She nodded. “A bit.”

He trailed his fingers softly over her face, avoiding the worst of the wounds. “You’ll be completely healed soon. And then you’ll be even more beautiful than before.” She must have looked skeptical, because he chuckled and added, “Suffering enriches the soul, and it’s only those with the most complex souls who are truly beautiful.”

He lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed it, then pressed her palm to his cheek and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to leave,” he whispered raggedly.

Without thinking, she reached up to stroke his lip as he had stroked hers. He captured her fingers with his free hand and kissed them, then leaned down and brought his face close to hers. She withdrew her hands from his to push against his chest, thinking of her sore lip.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, his arms encircling her. She closed her eyes as his mouth descended on hers. He
was
careful. The kiss felt warm and soft and heartbreakingly gentle, like a bit of down brushing her lips. Another feathery brush, and another... and then he closed his mouth tenderly over her lower lip, and she felt the light, wet sweep of his tongue over her sensitized flesh... a little healing lick.

“Martine,” he breathed, tightening his arms around her. Just as she moved to return the embrace, the stable door opened and they drew apart, breathless.