The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (6 page)

Edmund rode first to the gate and waved his welcome, then pulled his mount aside and allowed Richard to enter first. Those within Dornei's walls did not know what to make of the Benedictine monk who preceded their lady.

"Lady Isabel, are you safe and well?" the porter blurted out, his expression anxious. "Your disappearance on the heels of your father's death—"

"Lady Isabel is well, as you can see," Richard interrupted, dismounting. Edmund stayed upon his horse in flagrant violation of knightly etiquette. Richard did nothing more than mark the lapse. "She came to the Abbey of Saint Stephen and Saint Paul for succor in her distress and received such. And more beside," he added caustically.

"But, Lady, you were not here to make the arrangements for Lord Bernard—" the porter argued.

"Your name?" Richard interrupted again.

"Odwin Porter," he answered, looking uncomfortably between Isabel and the monk.

"Odwin, do you always question the acts of your lady? If so, it is a habit you will be broken of," Richard said sharply.

"If there is any breaking to be done, I shall be the one to do it, Brother Monk," a voice said.

Richard turned to face a household knight of some years, perhaps forty, with a lined and ruddy face and auburn curls streaked with silver gray. Stocky and stalwart, he faced Richard prepared for battle, even though he knew not whom he faced. Richard smiled reluctantly; worse things could be said of a man.

"I think not, unless I give you leave to do so," Richard answered stiffly.

"Lady, who is yon monk who thinks to order all within the walls of Dornei?" Gilbert asked, his hand on his dagger.

"Your new lord, Gilbert—Richard of Warefeld and now Dornei," Isabel answered, motioning for Edmund to help her dismount. Edmund came at her gesture as he had not come for Richard. Again, Richard noted it but said nothing.

His welcome into the life of Dornei was not a warm one. It was God's mercy that he did not require warmth to see his duty done.

"Your husband is a monk?" Gilbert said in thick sarcasm, his face going red to match the silvered glory of his vibrant hair.

"Yea, he is that," Richard answered for his wife. And to his wife. He wanted Isabel to know the level of his commitment to her; he had been duty-bound to marry her, and duty his service in this marriage would remain. No heartfelt bond united them. Duty required and duty met, that was all. She had to know that that was all she would get from him, no matter the depth of her wanting.

"He is Lord of Warefeld, Gilbert, and of Bledelai and Achelei," Isabel explained, pronouncing his worth.

"Lord of Warefeld? Then brother to Hubert...?”

Isabel looked down and swished her skirts, flicking off droplets of mud and water. "Aye, he is," she answered, looking up at Gilbert, ignoring Richard. It would be better said that she did not look upon him, for ignore him she could not. The betrothal contract between Dornei and Warefeld has been fulfilled, honoring both our fathers. I must go in and see to... things," she said and fled across the wide expanse of the bailey. Richard remained in the bailey with Gilbert and a slouching Edmund.

“Take my horse, boy, and see him well stabled," Richard said calmly to Edmund.

Edmund, without the shield of Isabel or even Gilbert, who would not stand between any man and his rightful fight, quickly crumbled. He did not like this man who was neither monk nor lord, or perhaps was both monk and lord but was not like any man he had yet met. In that he was most correct; Richard was unlike anyone.

"Then go to your lady and see to her needs. She will have much for you to do in helping Lord Bernard on his way," Richard added, as if he expected nothing less than complete compliance. Which was true and was exactly what he received.

"Yea, Lord Richard," Edmund mumbled, grabbing for the reins.

Richard held them back, and when Edmund looked up in confusion, said, "If you have something to say, say it, boy. Do not mumble it into the dirt where only worms and pecking birds can hear you. Say it loud if you know what you're about."

"Yea, my lord," Edmund said, his eye meeting Richard's with a glint of male pride.

"Go, then," Richard said with equal pride.

Edmund went.

Gilbert did not go, but then, Richard did not wish him to.

"How many knights does Dornei hold?" Richard asked. "And how many have left since Bernard's death?"

"Twenty-five knights does Dornei hold, and but two have left and only then upon the heels of Isabel's flight," Gilbert answered gruffly.

"And you were not tempted to leave?"

"I would not leave Lady Isabel in dire need," Gilbert said stiffly.

"Or not at all, were she without need?" Richard smiled over his shoulder as he studied Dornei's defenses. All looked well enough, but then, Isabel had not been in command for any length of time. And still, what passionate loyalty she inspired. Isabel and the hold she could exert on a man had changed not at all. Dornei was as enthralled by her as Malton had been. But she could not touch him. Not again.

Gilbert did not return the smile and did not answer.

"Have a care, Brother Knight, whom you choose to hold your honor, lest you wake and find yourself a Benedictine," Richard said, his tone clipped.

Gilbert said nothing to that as Richard, his black robes flapping, walked across the yard to the Hall.

He was expected, courtesy of Isabel. Both clerk and steward awaited him in the Hall, ready to do his bidding, or so they behaved. Richard was not fool enough to believe that all men would rejoice that a Benedictine brother had come as lord to Dornei, but he was willing to believe that they were curious about him and how well he would place as Dornei's lord. The clerk, Jerome, he instructed to wait until a later time when the accounts would be reviewed. If there was anything at which Richard excelled after a year of abbey life, it was in the reviewing of accounts and contracts. His being literate had opened many doors within the abbey; he could have made a nice place for himself in the monastic community, if not for Isabel.

Jerome dismissed, he turned to the steward. A tall man and slender, red-haired and green-eyed, he looked to be young for the position. The steward saw to all within the house; the botilers, cooks, bakers, scullions, chandlers, and grooms, all would be within his domain and authority. This man looked unripe for such responsibility.

"Your name?" Richard asked.

"Robert, my lord," he answered.

"How long have you been steward?"

"Five years come Candlemas, my lord."

"Five years?" He did not look to be above twenty.

"I have thirty summers behind me, my lord."

"It is a respectable age," Richard said. "You carry it lightly."

"Thank you. Lord Richard." He bowed. "Lady Isabel bade me escort you to Lord Bernard's chamber so that you may dress and perhaps wash the road from yourself before..."

Before.
Richard understood what Robert could not say and what Isabel had implied. Dornei was a rich holding and deserved a rich lord to command her; in his monk's robes he did not look the part nor did he inspire confidence. She wanted him to be admired, this new husband of hers. Well, it was little enough she asked of him, and there was logic in it besides; people served better those they respected, and if Dornei's folk could not stomach a plain-clothed monk, they might swallow more easily a fur-trimmed baron.

"Come, Robert, lead on to Bernard's chamber. Let us see what manner of man we may turn out for Dornei's approval."

Blushing, Robert led the way across the hall to the stair tower on the far wall. Dornei was large—beyond large, prosperous. The hall was three stories in height, painted dark red and fluttering with colorful tapestries. The wind holes were clear of cobwebs and birds' nests, the floors of solid wood instead of packed dirt, and the rushes woven tight. It was impressive, fully a third larger than the hall at Warefeld.

The stair tower was narrow, as precaution demanded, but bright, the twisting stone tower lined with narrow wind holes for archers. Robert led the way up one flight to the chamber that dominated the floor—Lord Bernard's chamber. A massive bed, rich with hangings of precious damask and thick with furs, occupied the center of the room; at its foot, a sturdy bench padded with fox fur. To the left was the fire, and to the right, the trunk. Near the doorway was poised the ewer with a length of linen hanging down to almost touch the floor. All was swept and still, the space newly empty of life, ready to receive the next lord of Dornei within its walls.

Robert lifted the lid on the heavy wooden trunk and, holding his taper back to prevent spills, with a simple gesture encouraged Richard to peruse his new wardrobe. Robert, it seemed, was quiet by nature, which suited Richard well. The clothing was rich, well made, and bountiful, like all of Dornei. He had no need for such finery, but he understood the reason for having it. It bespoke wealth and security when most could only remember war. The Lord of Dornei assured all who saw him that life was good in Dornei when e'er he walked about.

'Twas a small enough service that was asked of him, to dress the part of lord of a rich holding. He buried his right hand in the trunk, feeling the soft wools and crisp linens, the colors rich and deeply dyed. These were the garments of a wealthy man, and they were now his for the taking. He was the baron of Dornei. He rubbed his left hand down the front of his black robe, a simple garment of humility and service. It was a garment he no longer had the right to wear. Because of Isabel.

Digging deep within the trunk, Richard chose the simplest he could find—a dark blue wool tunic trimmed in red cording. From the dark recesses of the massive trunk Robert snagged the matching mantle—a full circle of wine red, held at the shoulder by a golden clasp. In truth, Richard had never dressed so fine. It did not sit well with him. The sin of avarice could consume a man surrounded by such earthly riches.

Isabel's father had been a wealthy man with much property, and Isabel had been well dowered. He had known that even before the ceremony, where their separate and now combined wealth had been listed in the marriage contract. Isabel was an only child, and all had been left to her. She was an heiress of rare value, and joining their two houses had been cause for celebration for their fathers. Both men were dead now, yet he had been called upon to make good the contract made sixteen years ago. Called upon because he was the only son left living to marry a woman of such high worth.

He had never thought to marry Isabel. Even in his youth, when dreams came hard upon a man, he had never dared to dream even to marry. His was a world of men, either warriors of the flesh or warriors of the spirit; it was a world he had never thought to leave.

He had never thought to marry, yet even now her image rose before him, wrapping around his thoughts, tempting him... a woman with long dark hair falling against a clean white shift. Bare limbs. Seductive eyes. How well he knew her, his succubus that came to him. So bold now that she did not wait for night but attacked his resolve even during the day. Away from the brotherhood he might be, but he would not be felled by so blatant an attack from the powers of the demonic host, no matter her allure.

Dropping to his knees, to Robert's surprise, Richard began to pray. Eyes pressed shut against his personal demon, his succubus, he fought his way to sanctity through prayer. One thought followed him, one thought, like a hawk that pursued through fog and rain, knowing no barrier to its prey: Isabel had been betrothed to his brother from infancy, yet from their youth Richard had felt her desire for him glittering sharply from her hazel eyes.

So bright had been her attraction; what honor was there in a woman who made such unlawful desire so readily known?

Chapter 6

The stables were warm from the sun and fragrant with the pleasant smell of hay. The first flies of the season gathered convivially over an hour-old pile of manure, their buzzing and its odor simultaneous experiences. Louis, Nicholas, and Adam kept their voices low, the tenor of their words sounding remarkably like distant buzzing, the weight of their speech edging toward the foul stink of lost opportunity.

"I got it from Guilbert, the botiler, who was told by Robert, so there is no chance of mistake," Nicholas said. "Isabel is married."

"She flew out of here like a sparrow seeking succor," Adam said, stroking his jawline in contemplation. "Succor from us?"

Nicholas and Louis looked at Adam and then at each other in something edging along condemnation, and then the look was broken.

"I wonder if she expected to return from the abbey a matron, leaving us panting like so many hounds after her scent," Adam continued.

"It would be strange indeed for a damsel to look for a husband among monks, tonsures, and eternal chants," Louis said with a tilted smile.

"Not so strange when you consider who was sheltered within those abbey walls, chanting his prayers to the Almighty," Nicholas said. "I squired at Malton. I remember well how Isabel circled over Richard of Warefeld, her eyes only for him. As children they had been close, their heads ever together, whispering their secrets, until Richard ended it, leaving her behind in the memory of childhood. But Isabel would not be left. Where else to find Richard but at the abbey?"