The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (15 page)

"Just so," Cathryn managed to whisper in answer, her carriage erect even after that mortal blow. "It is also true of broken vows," she parried, trying to remind him of the vow of love and protection he had made to her so recently.

"And broken trust," he coldly added, the light of victory flickering in his gray eyes.

John moved toward his lady, uncaring of the consequences, as Rowland moved to slide his sword free of restraint.

Father Godfrey hurried into the midst of them, his frock pulling at his feet.

"Burned fields and broken homes I have noted here, not broken vows or broken trust," he said to William, stepping to stand beside Cathryn. "Can you do aught to heal Greneforde?"

William heard Father Godfrey's words and knew that he sought to turn him from his path. He answered him in truth, but he did not take his eyes from Cathryn of Greneforde.

"Greneforde I can heal, with men and seed and God's good will. Greneforde will have my care."

Cathryn met his look, her dark eyes of brown absorbing the cold gray metal of his and responding as little as the changeless earth when a sword is thrust into it. Lifting her chin, she said curtly, "'Tis well, for 'tis Greneforde that needs it."

John stood on her other side and gently touched her arm, ignoring both Rowland and William.

"Lady Cathryn," he said in a voice of profound respect, "I ask that you supervise the quartering of the venison."

"Nay," William cut in, "'tis my right, as mine was the killing shaft."

"As you will, Lord William," Cathryn quickly and softly agreed, her eyes holding his. "'Tis bloody work, and you are welcome to it."

"Yea, lady," he answered as she turned to walk away, still protected between Godfrey and John, "you have said it aright, and bloody work requires water. Heat water, lady; there will be many baths taken before the day is done."

Cathryn paused, but did not look back. She nodded once, firmly, and continued on.

William did not hesitate in his task; he looked forward to it with relish. If he could not take out his anger and frustration on his icy wife, then he would find release on the carcass of an already defeated foe. Taking up his knife, he slit the skin from neck to tail. The entrails spilled out upon the ground in a red, steamy mass, and he reached in to cut out the heart and lungs and liver before he cut the neck to allow the blood to drain.

He looked up, his arms and chest and legs coated and spattered with blood, to find that Cathryn had paused on the threshold to the stair tower. He had known she was watching him somehow, and so there was no surprise in his eyes as he looked at her.

The look he gave her was chilling, and Cathryn read his thoughts easily, which was his wish: he stood covered in the blood of the deer as he had not been covered in hers. And he never would be.

Chapter 8

Cathryn walked up the stairs calmly, though she wanted to surge up them and into the relative privacy of her own chamber as the tide wanted to rush upon the shore. Her husband might not have drawn her virgin's blood, but he had drawn the blood of her heart during their most recent exchange of words. Verily, William le Brouillard wielded words as adeptly and as ruthlessly as he ever did a sword. Did his reputation extend beyond the standard weapons of warfare to include the slicing he did with his tongue? Or was she the only one to have felt its razor edge? It was hardly something she could ask Ulrich.

So deep in thought was she that when Marie softly appeared out of the shadow that hid the entrance to the hall, she almost gasped in surprise. As it was, she nearly lost her footing, and so her immediate response to Marie was a trifle harsh.

"Marie! You should be hidden away at this hour. The tower is overrun with men."

"Yea, Lady Cathryn, I do know it, but I had heard that a deer had been slain by Lord William and I wanted to know the truth of it. Is it true, lady? Will we eat fresh venison this day?" she asked eagerly, her blue eyes alight with hope.

An image of William, his hands covered in blood, his eyes as cold as stone-sharpened steel, flooded her thoughts. Again she felt that she was losing her footing, yet both feet were planted firmly upon the stone.

"Yea," she answered simply, her mind drowning in the ice of William's eyes.

"Oh, lady, you spoke true when you declared that a knight would bring life to Greneforde!"

Marie's words almost made her laugh. Again she saw him as she had last seen him, and the vision was as welcome as a sword thrust. How long would it be before she could escape the picture in her mind of le Brouillard standing over the dead animal, covered in its life-giving blood?

But there was no time to answer. There was a wild clattering on the step, and then Ulrich burst upon them, intent upon some errand for his lord. He rushed against Cathryn, who jostled Marie, who softly cried out in shock and fear and what else, Cathryn could not say. But Marie had been seen. And by William's squire.

In a swirl of frenzied skirts, Marie was gone, disappearing much more silently than Ulrich had arrived. But Ulrich, his eye ever trained to find and pursue young women, had not missed her. He had seen her clearly enough to be enchanted by her vivid blue eyes and her ample bosom. He was as a hound on the scent and he would not easily be put off, though Cathryn did try.

"Ulrich," she called sharply as he made to move past her in the direction in which Marie had fled. "For what purpose do you careen through the stair tower?" And when that failed to gain his attention, "Has your lord sent you on some errand of urgency?"

At the mention of William, Ulrich paused and breathed out heavily. Whether it was in frustration or anticipation, Cathryn could not determine.

"Yea, Lady Cathryn. Lord William asked that I find a special soap that was made for him in Flanders; it has a most pleasing aroma, and he is eager to wash the scent of blood from his body."

Cathryn tried to resist the urge to comment on William's fastidiousness, but she could not help the raising of her eyebrows or the look of amusement that entered her eyes. And since it was not William himself whom she faced, she did not much try.

"Your lord seems to be ever about his bath, Ulrich. Is this penchant common amongst the knights of France?"

"Nay, lady," he said in exasperation. "My lord alone, of all the knights I have known, is determined to be clean and to have those around him clean as well."

"Yea, it has come to my attention," she said dryly.

"And, lady, do you know he requires me to bathe once every week?" he blurted out, wanting to share the scandalous news with anyone who would sympathize with him.

"Truly, your knight's training is most rigorous," Cathryn murmured with a half-swallowed smile.

"It is something that he learned of in the land of our Savior, and the practice appealed to him so strongly, and, I do confess, to many other of our Christian knights, but in none so religiously as my lord, that he will bathe near every day..."

"And so today," she reminded him, certain that Marie was once again well hidden.

"Yea, lady," he said in a rush, "and I must find that soap or he will have my head! Your pardon."

And, with a bound of youthful speed, he was gone.

Cathryn, suspecting that Ulrich had made for the lord's chamber, changed direction and proceeded to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the knot of people who surrounded the now unrecognizable deer. But it was William she wanted to avoid.

John was there, and Alys and Lan and half a dozen others. It was clear that they had been waiting for her.

"Hot water has been requested by the lord of Greneforde," she informed them calmly.

Of course, she had not said anything of which they were not aware. Indeed, she was beginning to wonder if there was a fortified dwelling anywhere between London and Damascus that had not been treated to William le Brouillard's fascination with water and soap. But what the people of Greneforde did not know was what Cathryn wanted them to do about his repeated requests—nay, demands—that they all bathe.

"As he is lord, his will must be acceded to in all things," she said pleasantly. "John, please be certain that enough water has been heated for my lord."

"And for ourselves, lady?" he asked.

Cathryn smiled warmly, eagerly anticipating her small revenge. Her brown eyes sparkling, she answered, "Lord William has proven his hunting skill this day and brought down a fat doe. Will it not take most of your time to prepare this splendid bounty so that we may indulge our appetites at dinner?"

John smiled, as did the others. "Yea, Lady Cathryn," John said, "our day is most full."

"Just so," Cathryn replied, and left them to their work.

The knot of helpers who had ringed the deer was gone, as was William, when she passed again. The blood had been drained and saved and the organs removed to form the basis for special, savory dishes. Today would have been better planned as her wedding feast, but without le Brouillard's skill there would have been no venison, and without the wedding, there would have been no le Brouillard. Cathryn sighed. Still, he was proving his worth to Greneforde. And more than his worth, he was proving his willingness, mayhap eagerness, to provide for Greneforde's needs. She had been accurate when she told Marie that a husband would be a good thing for Greneforde. And Marie had been correct when she worried that a husband would not be good for Cathryn.

Fie!
What was wrong with her today? She and le Brouillard could not be friends, but they might progress past enemies. Greneforde had a strong lord to protect her. And though her husband looked on her unkindly, he was not ungentle; that in itself was enough to commend him. Many a man would have killed her where she lay upon finding her unvirginal. He could also have annulled the vows and gone his way, and Greneforde would have been in the same sad straits she had been in before his arrival.

Truly, she had much to be thankful for, even if her husband was too handsome for comfort, too compelling with his silver eyes ringed with long black lashes; even if his mouth was too firm and his cheek too finely drawn. His look was so different from one whose eyes were of palest blue. A roiling in the pit of her stomach put a welcome end to that line of thought as she hurried across the enclosure to the shelter of the great tower.

It had begun to rain again. The blood-soaked earth where the deer had been riven was being cleansed even as she watched. In an hour, none would know that blood had been spilt there. Suddenly soul-weary, Cathryn ducked into the stairway.

As silent as Ulrich had been loud, William descended the stair in a rush. Dried blood covered his hands, arms, and legs, and his curling hair shone darkly with sweat-soaked ringlets. Cathryn sucked in her breath at sight of him and pressed her back against the wall—to keep herself from being thrown down the stair, she told herself. Her heart hammered but it was not in fear. William le Brouillard was a devastating man to the eye.

Knowing what he sought, she spoke before he did. "The water is on the boil, my lord, and will be carried to your chamber shortly."

"You anticipate my needs, lady, and most rightly."

"'Tis not so difficult." She could not help smiling.

"Nay?" He smiled in return. "Then it would please me if you would share your talent with Ulrich, I sent him for—"

"Soap," she supplied. "A special blend you commissioned in Flanders, I believe?"

"'Tis as I thought," William grumbled good-naturedly. "The boy has time to talk of the deed but not the time to perform it. I left him headfirst in my chest looking for it. If he has not found it by the time I return, his feet may join his head and he will miss the coming meal, no matter how his stomach protests."

Cathryn smiled more fully. She understood the man better than she had yesterday. He would do no harm to the boy, no matter the provocation. Who knew that better than she?

William watched her, lost in the brightness of her smile and trying desperately not to be. The sharp words of just minutes ago seemed to have been forgotten by both of them. He did not relish spending his days in verbal combat with his wife, and it appeared that she was as eager as he to start again on more cordial grounds. This light mood of hers surprised him. He had hardly thought she had it in her. It was a most pleasant surprise.