Virginia Henley (14 page)

Kate Kendall was doing her utmost to brush every last curly tangle from Roseanna’s magnificent hair. It fell down her back like a shining dark waterfall, glorying in its freedom on this nuptial day. “Hold still, or I’ll rattle yer teeth,” threatened Kate. Roseanna giggled because she didn’t know if Kate meant her or Alice.

Roseanna saw the full beauty of the gown with its white roses and rosebuds embroidered on shining white
satin. Before, she had been blind to its beauty, never allowing herself to think of the ceremony with Ravenspur. Now she took pleasure in its beauty. Her fingers caressed the smooth material and traced the embroidery on the rose petals. The sleeves were long and wide, falling in points to her knees. Her mother had designed a tiny coronet of pearls that Alice now fixed in place. Then she pulled the frothy white veil down over her face.

Roseanna repeated instructions her mother had given her earlier. “I’m to go to the minster with Father in the coach.”

“Right,” said Kate, pursing her lips as she always did before delivering a piece of home truth. “Spare a few minutes for the poor man, Roseanna. He’s losing his spoiled darling today. Though I’m sure he’s very proud of you, he’s covering up a great deal of sadness, too.”

Roseanna squeezed the older woman’s hand; she was just beginning to know Kate. Ready at last, Roseanna looked around the room to see if she had forgotten anything. She had not yet seen the sleeping chamber that had been set aside for the bride and groom on their first night, but she knew it was in the general direction of the King’s apartments, well away from these rooms. Suddenly feeling nervous, she turned to Kate. “Be sure that my combs and brushes are taken along to the bridal chamber. You know how easily my hair tangles.”

Kate nodded. The women from the outer room were now crowding in to get a last look at the bride. They gave her sly looks that clearly said,
We know what you’re in for tonight

Not if I can help it,
she vowed to herself. “Kate, don’t forget a warm bedgown,” she added, stalling for time.

“Lass, lass, I’ll see to everything, from your favorite
scent to your velvet slippers. Now be off and go with God, Roseanna.”

Impulsively, she hugged the older woman and kissed Alice; then she looked about for Rebecca. She sat wanly in a corner, her face the color of parchment. “Come on, Rebecca. You’re supposed to help me lift my train so I can walk in this gown.”

The girl seemed at a loss, so Roseanna flipped the excess material over her arm and offered her other hand to Rebecca.

The girl stood up willingly enough, but before they had gone through the arched doorway, she was in trouble with her own gown. Roseanna grinned ruefully as she bent to untangle Rebecca’s hem from a footstool.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Rebecca pitifully.

“Come on, girl. Buck up. I’m going to my wedding, not to my execution,” said Roseanna, laughing.

“Aren’t you afraid?” asked Rebecca in wonder.

Roseanna considered for a moment. Of course she was afraid, but she would die before she’d let anybody know it. Actually, she knew she would only get through the door if she thought of it as a challenge. “Afraid?” she asked Rebecca incredulously. “Ravenspur’s the one who should be quaking in his boots!”

Her father awaited her beside an ornate royal coach. “Father, I think we’d better get Rebecca inside first. She doesn’t seem very strong.”

Neville lifted the young woman in yellow into the coach and tucked her golden embroidered skirts around her ankles so that he could close the door. Then they went around the coach, and both entered from the opposite door. He looked at his daughter anxiously. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“I’m in fighting fettle,” she answered, trying to smile. “This is Rebecca Montford. She’s married to Ravenspur’s brother, God help her.”

Neville cast a warning glance at his daughter to watch her tongue. “The cathedral has a very long aisle; you don’t think you’ll faint, do you?” he asked Rebecca worriedly.

“I might,” she conceded with a whisper.

Roseanna rolled her eyes heavenward. The coach didn’t have far to go because the minster was part of the Norman-built royal buildings of York.

The bride and groom were not supposed to see each other until they faced the altar, but Roger and Tristan Montford had just arrived when Roseanna’s coach drew up. Neville reached across Rebecca to open the small door. She had a difficult time extracting herself from the ornate vehicle. Tristan stepped forward, his older brother hard upon his heels, and helped his wife to alight.

Roseanna looked down directly into Ravenspur’s dark eyes and said deliberately, “I need no man’s help!”

Roger bowed low. “You are flying your banners. I recognize your challenge.” His eyes swept her from head to foot. He knew he had chosen well. She was the loveliest sight he had ever beheld, and he could not wait to claim her. She swept past him on her father’s arm; Rebecca had to scurry to catch up with her.

One corner of Tristan’s mouth went up as the pair walked toward the vestry door. He spoke the battle prayer that was used before going into combat: “May God grant you gain this day, my lord.”

Roger gave the reply to the battle prayer: “This day is mine, for God defends my right.” The two brothers subdued their grins before they approached the altar.

York Minster was the largest Gothic cathedral in all of England. As Roseanna looked up toward its vaulted ceilings outlined in gold, her breath almost left her, so magnificent and rich was the setting.

The voices of the choirboys raised on high were so sweet and so innocent that they brought a lump to Roseanna’s throat. Though the cathedral was vast, the pews were filled to capacity. Roseanna had a difficult time picking out familiar faces in the large crowd.

King Edward and his attendants were seated in his private pew at the front of the cathedral. He drew everyone’s eye. Still annoyed with him and not ready to forgive him, Roseanna was determined not to look in his direction once during the ceremony.

The singing voices died away, and the clear notes of the virginal rose and echoed throughout the church. Neville squeezed his daughter’s hand, and they began their slow promenade.

Roseanna’s eyes flew to the figure awaiting her at the altar. With his back toward her, she was free to indulge in bad manners. She stared her fill. He was dressed in black velvet. The shoulders of the padded doublet were so wide she could hardly believe it, yet she knew the garment exaggerated his width only slightly. He was so tall, he towered above his brother and even above the prelate, who stood on the altar’s steps. His raven-black hair had been freshly trimmed, yet it curled against his white collar.

The Latin prayers seemed interminable, but finally the bishop stepped forward and in forbidding tones began the solemnization of matrimony. Roseanna clutched the arm of her father as the bishop intoned, “It is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly or
wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.” He looked at Roseanna sternly and raised his voice as if he were passing a sentence upon her. She listened tensely.

“Marriage was ordained for the hallowing of the union betwixt man and woman; for the procreation of children” —Roseanna shuddered—“to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord; and for the mutual society, help and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, in both prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

Roseanna closed her eyes and envisioned a shining knight stepping forward. His face was beautiful, for it had God’s light upon it.
“She is mine,”
he said simply. Another man stepped forward, dressed in black robes with a hood covering his head, looking like a judge who was about to pass sentence.
“Ravenspur is no fit husband. He murdered his last wife.”

Roseanna’s eyes flew open as the bishop intoned, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

“I do,” said Neville Castlemaine solemnly. Before he took a step forward, Roseanna stood on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. Such an unorthodox thing to do, yet so touching. A murmur of approval went through the congregation. Roseanna saw tears in Neville’s eyes as she stepped forward and Ravenspur turned to receive her.

She did not lower her lashes, for she knew the veil concealed her features well. He was so close, she could
see the faint dark shadow upon his chin that remained no matter how closely he shaved. She saw the diamond earring he was wearing, yet it glittered no brighter than his eyes as their darkness reflected the flickering light of the tapers on the altar.

All her senses were heightened. The acrid smell of candle wax, mixed with the cloying scent of incense, came to her. Her ears picked up a jealous remark and also close behind her the soft sound of Rebecca’s weeping. She felt a garter cutting into her thigh and the embroidered chemise rubbing against her nipples.

She wanted to cry out in protest, but when she opened her mouth, the response, “I will,” slipped out of its own volition. Her eyes were drawn to her left hand, which Ravenspur was holding so tightly, she thought the circulation of her blood had surely stopped. With hands at least twice the size of hers, he was placing a band of gold upon her third finger. Half an inch in width, it gleamed dully as she felt its substantial weight. The bishop said something about a kiss, and Ravenspur was lifting her veil. She had time only for an indrawn breath before his mouth came down firmly upon hers; then her thoughts exploded.
You dare to assume you can seal this marriage with a kiss! I’ll show you otherwise if it kills me! You may be my husband, but you will never own the smallest part of me!

After the kiss her mind seemed to go blank. Later, she knew she had signed the register; she knew she had traversed the long aisle held close against Ravenspur’s side; she knew she had run through clouds of rice and rose petals to the din of deafening cheers; and she knew she had ridden back to the banquet with Ravenspur anchored
to her side. Yet she did not emerge from her trancelike state until she was seated on the dais with her husband on her left and the King on her right.

Edward’s eyes teased her. “So fair, yet so cruel,” he whispered. “You could not spare me one look.”

“And what was your reply when I asked to be spared?” she retaliated.

“Spared?” echoed Roger, hearing every word.

“From a fate worse than death!” she added with relish.

Ned and Roger exchanged grins.

The dishes served were culinary masterpieces: roasted swans and cranes sat beside platters holding suckling pigs and haunches of venison. The spits had been busy since dawn roasting lambs and oxen; kitchen boys staggered carrying roasted boars.

Acutely conscious of Roseanna, Ravenspur bent low and murmured, “You’d better eat something before all the toasts begin.”

She bristled. “Are you afraid I will become flown with wine and disgrace you, my lord?”

“You cannot disgrace another, only yourself,” he said with a twinkling eye.

The first toast was to the King; the second was from the King to the bride; the third was from the groomsman to the groom; and the fourth was from the bride to her parents. The fifth was from the groom to his bride:

The onlookers banged their goblets on the trestle tables in appreciation of the groom’s wit. Roseanna would not be outdone. She replied to her husband’s toast,

Ned winked at Roger and raised his goblet. “She’s right, you know!”

Roger and Roseanna shared one platter, as was custom. He took all the choicest pieces and placed them on her side. She knew it would be petty to refuse, but the next time a fresh dish was placed before her, she took a choice cut and placed it on his side of the platter. Nothing could show him more plainly that she meant to start out on an even footing. It did not annoy him; it amused him. He picked up the food she had selected for him and ate it with gusto.

Ale, mead, and malmsey were flowing; the crowd of guests lost all semblance of decorum as they indulged freely. Roseanna saw Rebecca arise from the table looking paler than death. Feeling protective of her, Roseanna arose and walked with her. “I’ll come with you to the garderobe before the dancing begins.”

Roseanna became very concerned when she heard Rebecca vomit down the jakes. “Oh, Rebecca love, you are ill. I’m afraid it’s all been too much for you. You should have been allowed to stay home in bed today. I’ll tell that husband of yours just that.”

“Oh, please, no,” begged Rebecca. “Don’t spoil his pleasure, and please don’t tell him that I was sick.”

Roseanna made no reply but guided the girl back to the table. She had just opened her mouth to speak to Tristan when she caught Rebecca’s imploring expression, which seemed to clearly say, “Please don’t anger him or I shall suffer.” So she said to Tristan, “I need Rebecca to go upstairs for me to see that all is in readiness in the bridal chamber. You don’t mind if she goes up now, do you?”

“I shall claim forfeit for your first dance,” he bartered.

Roseanna turned to Rebecca and whispered, “Go up to bed, love. I’ll take care of Tristan.”

The air was filled with the notes of fiddles and flutes as the trestle tables were being stacked to make room for dancing. When Tristan closed in the dance with Roseanna, he whispered, “I know your secret!”

She arched a brow at him.

“You have a soft heart.”

“And how do you know that?” she challenged.

“You were being kind to Rebecca. What you don’t realize is that she makes herself sick on purpose.”