The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (5 page)

The servants of Greneforde stank.

Of them all, only Lady Cathryn was clean, and in her white gown she stood out as a beacon fire on a black night.

Rowland looked again at William. Across Syria, Armenia, Cappadocia, Phrygia; in Antioch, Edessa, and Dorylaeum; from Moldavia and Bohemia and Saxony; in the lands of Champagne, Blois, and, naturally, Normandy, William le Brouillard was well known for his fighting skill, his beauty, and... his cleanliness. In the arid sands of Damascus, where water was more precious than pearls and men sold their horses for a mere cupful of it, William had been clean. It was not that he had an unmasculine fear of dirt and hard labor—no one who knew him long could make that accusation. It was just that he could not abide slovenly habits in himself or in those around him. One had only to hear Ulrich complain to know the truth of that. And now William had his land and his estate and his people, and the people had passed dirty six months ago. If Rowland had been of a lighter temperament, he would have laughed.

William watched Cathryn as she spoke with the steward. She was thin, with the willowy grace of tall grass moved by the wind, but he could see now that she was a full woman. It was not the look of her, for she was as slender and shapeless as a child, but the manner she possessed. She was in full command of the hall and its people; for all the hurried activity of the folk brushing past her, each and every one looked in her direction not once, but often. Sometimes she would nod or make eye contact, sometimes she did not acknowledge them at all, but still they looked to her. William, watching her, suddenly felt distinctly unnecessary.

"The hour is past for the main meal, my lord."

Her voice was low and soft, yet carried to him clearly across the clamor of the hall.

"Yet a full table has been prepared for you and your company so that you might refresh yourselves after your journey to us."

He could see that it was so. The high table was being set with steaming trenchers, and the goblet that was positioned in the place of the lord's chair was of finely worked silver. There was nothing in her words or her manner to feed suspicion. He was hungry. His men were hungry. The food had clearly been prepared in advance of his arrival. Still, he could not ignore the alarm that jangled in the heart of his thoughts. For all of her sweet words and her open-door welcome, he did not quite trust the lady of Greneforde. Something was amiss, and if he did not know now what it was, he was certain he would know ere long. Until he did know, marriage to her was his best security against open warfare with the people of Greneforde. Armed battle was not how he wanted to begin his lordship. From such a beginning it might take years to heal.

"Lady," he began, "your hospitality is welcome as has your welcome been most hospitable, yet I would not delay the signing of the marriage contract and the nuptials that will join us as the lord and lady of Greneforde." William paused to smile. "I am Henry's man, and he has sent me here to secure the land in his name; I would be a churlish knight if I chose my own comfort over quick obedience to the king's command."

Cathryn heard his words without any wisp of expression crossing her features, but her very lack of response was response enough.

"Lady Cathryn," William continued, "you have prepared a fine banquet for your betrothed." He paused again to smile, but his eyes shone like unsheathed steel. "I would have it be our wedding feast and eat it with my wife beside me."

In those long and silent moments, Cathryn regarded William le Brouillard as she had not yet done. Courtly of speech he was, certainly, but the steel of him was a barely concealed blade that, while not aggressively seeking to hurt, also would not hesitate to do so if provoked. He seemed a strong man, one not accustomed to having his will thwarted, who would fight, even if gently, to achieve his purpose. All this she thought as she faced him and heard his prettily spoken words that all the same said that he would not eat now, that he would not eat until Greneforde was lawfully his.

This glimpse into the character of the man who would rule Greneforde did not dismay her, indeed, such traits would serve Greneforde well, if Greneforde's welfare was important to him. Of herself and how she would fare with him, she did not, would not, ponder.

"Your duty rules you, my lord, and I am ruled by it," she answered simply with a graceful nod. "Your chamber awaits you. When you have changed out of your battle gear, you will find me in the solar; if that is in accord with your desires."

He would rather have gone directly to the chapel and signed the contracts immediately, but he did not want to risk offending her by marrying in armor after she had capitulated without argument concerning the meal. Subduing his anxiety, he smiled with all of the courtly charm that he had acquired during his years of soldiering and answered, "That you seek to gratify my desires pleases me, Cathryn, and so I would please you."

For all that his imminent wife was adept at self-possession, he did not miss the slight widening of her dark eyes at his answer. She was an innocent, unused to the seductive speech used at court; it was to be expected in light of Greneforde's remote location, and he was pleased by it.

"I will dress in robes that will add honor to the ceremony that will join us. You will not have long to wait, lady."

No reply was necessary, for which she was grateful. There was a lump in the center of her chest that pushed against her lungs so that she struggled to draw breath. He was strikingly handsome, this man who would rule her; his eyes glowed and sparked like newly worked steel, and his fine words wound around her like a net. She hoped he did not know that she found his words beguiling, for it would not do for him to gain so firm a foothold and so quickly.

Turning swiftly, Cathryn led the way to the stair and on to her future husband's chamber.

It was just above the great hall below, but half its size. The room had been divided in the past to make two rooms: one, the lord's chamber, and next to it, the solar. It was an unusual arrangement. Usually the lord's bedchamber served as solar, since space inside a great tower, even a large one, was at a premium, but, even divided, the bedchamber was ample in size. A large bed dominated the room, draped in pristine white that almost touched the floor. The bed, surmounted by a canopy structure, was bare of the canopy itself, but that could be easily amended. On the far side of the bed was the hearth, with a fire crackling brightly and dispelling the damp cold that infused the stone walls. Before the fire was a padded stool and a plain bench that had been artfully carved but had seen rough handling during its lifetime. On the opposing wall, closest to the curtained entrance to the room, was a simply carved chest of royal proportions, and next to it was a washstand with a pitcher and bowl. William nodded his approval of the room; it was large, it was well-appointed, and it was clean.

Before he could speak, Cathryn stepped back into the curtained alcove that separated the door from the room; it was a very effective means of keeping down drafts that could rise with stormlike force in the narrow confines of the stair tower. A pair of men carried in a deep wooden tub and set it before the fire, nodding and touching hands to forelocks as they passed the new lord of Greneforde. On their heels came a stream of servants carrying buckets of water, unloading their heavy burden into the tub and quickly leaving the room. The servants, each and every one, had two things in common: each cast Cathryn a questioning glance before leaving and each was covered in grime. It did not pass William's notice, and while the one aroused his never-sleeping suspicions that something was afoot in Greneforde, he commented only about the latter.

"A bath before a warm fire will be most welcome. Lady Cathryn," he said. "You are most kind to think of it. It has been many days since I last washed," he added, looking pointedly at the last departing servant and the dirt tracks he left in his wake.

Cathryn only nodded, refusing to follow where his eyes led.

"During the time I traveled in the Way of the Cross I learned a great deal," he continued, moving more deeply into the room. "The Saracens, by example, taught us much in the way of warfare and architecture and, for myself, the comfort of cleanliness. I highly recommend it."

Cathryn stayed at her self-imposed post by the doorway, and though her answer was mild, he felt the deeply hidden barb within it.

"You are fortunate, my lord, to have learned so much. Not everyone has had the advantage of traveling far afield in God's work."

William, remembering with vivid clarity the dirt, the depravation, the starvation and thirst, but most of all the violent death that had been part and parcel of that traveling, wondered if she truly understood what she was saying.

"I concede that not many were able to follow the Way, and far fewer to return," he answered with equal mildness. "Therefore, my insights are all the more valuable for their rarity."

"An interesting perspective," she murmured.

"And one I devoutly hope you will come to share," he said with pleasant force, his eyes glowing like polished pewter, "as we will share all things."

Cathryn, backed into a corner both literally and figuratively, clasped her hands before her and nodded pleasantly and...forcefully.

"Lady"—William smiled—"it is my wish that the people of Greneforde bathe. Often."

"And so they shall," she responded calmly despite the escalated pounding of her heart. Bowing slightly, she said, "I will leave you to the care of your squire and your bath." And she disappeared as Ulrich entered in a flurry of motion.

Descending the stairs gave Cathryn time to slow the racing of her heart. Her initial estimation of William le Brouillard had been correct, and this second encounter only supported her conclusion: he would be a strong force in Greneforde. He would demand, in his honeyed fashion, that his wishes be made law. She smiled slightly to herself as she reached the bottom stair. The rain had become heavier and more chill since the arrival of le Brouillard. It struck the already muddy earth, sending up brown spikes of impact with each drop. Clutching her white gown up to her knees, she hugged the wall of the great tower and dashed to the kitchen. There were ways to deal with such a man, and the earth itself would instruct her. As the rain beat against the soil, seeking to change its very nature, so le Brouillard would beat against her. But, in the end, the rain blew away with the first steady wind and the earth was left as it had been, unmarked and unchanged by the water thrown against it. So it would be with them, and she would be the victor, though the victory would be a gentle one.

The kitchen staff would be nervous—that she knew without even thinking—so she entered with a smile, shaking the water from her hair with a laugh. It was well she did so, for they had cause to worry.

"He has ordered baths, has he not, lady?" Eldon asked. Of course they knew what had been said, at least in essence, in the lord's chamber. There were no secrets in the closely confined world of tower and wall.

"Yea, he has expressed his wish that bathing be a part of Greneforde life," she answered softly.

"What will we do, lady?" Marie whispered from a far corner of the room.

"We will bathe, Marie." Cathryn smiled. "The lord of Greneforde has spoken, and I have acceded to his wishes, as is right."

They looked at her in bafflement. It was Cathryn herself who had ordered that not one of them should bathe, no matter how dirty they became, even including the washing of their garments. It went beyond comprehension that she should have changed her position so quickly at just a word from the stranger who had entered their gate.

Walking to the hearth and casually stirring a pot of stew, Cathryn just as casually remarked, "What William le Brouillard has not said is
when
this bathing will happen."

Smiles, slow at first, lit the faces of the servants. Marie, in particular, breathed easier. Lady Cathryn would not be bested so easily; this they had known, but the fresh evidence of it was welcome.

Turning to Lan, Cathryn instructed, "There has been a delay in the timing of the meal, but I trust that you will be able to lay an impressive table."

Before he could answer, she turned to Alys. "Perhaps this delay will give you the time you need to do something remarkable with the apples, Alys."

"Aye, it will, my lady. I have it in mind even now," Alys assured her, and turned away to begin her work.

"John," Cathryn said, "I have been concerned about the eggs. They will harden at this delay. Could we not prepare them—"

"It has been seen to, Lady Cathryn," John answered calmly.

"Thank you, John," Cathryn responded, and then added in the same quiet and composed way in which she had said everything else, "for it must be a special meal, since it marks my marriage."

Marie, of them all, marveled at Cathryn's composure, and secretly, in her dark corner, she shivered in black apprehension.

Chapter 4