A Lily on the Heath 4 (24 page)

At this imposing sight, Judith swallowed hard—for she’d never seen him dressed befitting his station as a great and wealthy baron. He was both breathtakingly handsome and intimidating all at once. She managed to raise her gaze to his, mortified that she should be presented to her future husband dressed as she was whilst he was garbed in all finery.

But when she met his hazel eyes, she saw only anticipation and blatant approval. Judith held her chin high and when Gavin transferred her hand to Malcolm’s, she gave a brief curtsy to her soon-to-be husband, then pressed a kiss to her cousin’s cheek.

Malcolm’s large hand covered hers easily, his fingers warm and steadying around hers as they turned to face the priest and the archbishop, kneeling on the
prie-dieu
in front of them.

The ceremony was too brief and yet interminable. Judith, who’d attended mass countless times in her life, and nearly as many weddings, struggled between nervousness and pleasure as the clergymen led them through the familiar rites. Throughout, Malcolm’s fingers remained curled around hers, offering stability and comfort.

When at last Canterbury released them to the room at large, she and her new husband faced each other. He bent to press a brief, soft kiss to her lips, then turned to present the new Lady of Warwick to their friends and peers.

And then all at once, the chapel went dead silent. Everyone was turning toward the rear.

“What is happening here?” demanded a familiar peremptory voice.

Judith went instantly cold, her insides puddling into fear and her knees weakening as she looked up to see King Henry standing on the chapel’s threshold.

“Good evening, your majesty,” said Malcolm in a smooth, calm voice. ’Twas Judith’s good fortune that he had a strong hold around her waist, else she might have sagged to the floor.

“Your majesty,” said Gavin, interrupting when Malcolm might have continued. “You have arrived just in time to congratulate Warwick on his new bride.”

Judith swore the chamber held its collective breath as the news sunk in. Even from across the small way, she saw an array of emotions pass over Henry’s face: shock, disbelief, fury. She noticed Dirick of Ludingdon and Hugh de Rigonier shifting their position so as to be visible to the king.

“Canterbury?” the king demanded, looking about. “What have you to say?”

“Congratulate Warwick, Henry. He’s made a fine choice in wife,” said Thomas à Becket—who may or may not have been aware of the undercurrents now seething in the holy place. “I have just finished officiating the ceremony—and now I wish to eat and drink.”

“Indeed.” The king’s voice was frosty and his expression like granite. He looked at Judith, meeting her eyes from the other end of the aisle, and she shivered at the expression therein. She clutched Malcolm’s arm more tightly, and he gave her a little squeeze.
 

“Very well then,” said Henry in a falsely jovial voice, “’tis off to the hall we go, for much celebration!”

~*~

Henry Plantagenet, King of England,
Duke of Anjou, had never been foiled so neatly and truly as he had been today.

He simmered during the loud, raucous evening meal, wherein he was required to pretend to happily endorse the marriage of the woman with whom he was obsessed to a wealthy baron who had powerful friends. Even dressed as she was—in a simple, loose gown, with her brilliant fire-gold hair in a variety of braids—Judith of Kentworth was magnificent. He could still taste the sweetness of her skin and feel the perfect heft and weight of her breasts. The image of her hair spread over the white coverings of his bed, and her ivory body splayed on dark, sable fur were burned into his mind.
 

He was not yet finished with her, and though she’d been snatched from beneath his nose by Malcolm of Warwick, Henry was not about to stand down. Nay. He was
King
. It had been more than a se’ennight since he’d had his fill of her, and he would wait no longer. He would not be denied.

And so as the evening progressed and his court drank itself merry and stuffed itself with the extravagant meal he provided, Henry waited. He imbibed little, ate less, and watched. Eleanor, who sat next to him at the high table, coldly ignored him. Yet she was no happier with the events of the day than her husband.

And when Judith of Kentworth—now Lady of Warwick—stood at last to go to her chamber to prepare for her wedding night, Henry noticed. And when he saw that Malcolm of Warwick seemed not to notice or care—for he appeared well into his cups and wholly entertained by Hugh de Rigonier and a raucous game of dice—Henry rose.
 

The hall had begun to empty out, for it was late. Men-at-arms snored, their heads resting on the tables. Most of the ladies had sought their beds. But the bridegroom seemed in no hurry to do so. Canterbury was gone as well, Henry noted with relief. He and Becket had been close once upon a time, but since being named archbishop, Becket had become holier-than-thou.

Henry left the hall, eluding a trio of pages and one of his men-at-arms who meant to accompany him abovestairs. He was not bound for his own chamber this night.
 

The corridor that led to Judith’s chamber was silent and empty. Henry’s heart began to pound and his cock shifted in anticipation as he approached her door. Once inside, he could bolt them in and take his pleasure all the night. Warwick would have no choice but to allow it…and mayhap after this night, he would no longer want the woman.

Aye. That would be it. Henry would give her lands to Warwick and keep her for himself. He smiled, adjusting the weight of his cock inside the vee of his hose, knocked on the door, then shoved it open.

His anticipatory step across the threshold was halted by the sight which greeted him.

A well-lit chamber it was. And crowded. Henry’s eyes bounced around like coins in a pouch as he saw Ludingdon, Mal Verne, Salisbury, Castendown…
Canterbury.
Mayhap a dozen or more men, all of whom he knew, stood in the chamber. He could not speak and all feeling drained from his face and body, surely seeping into the floor.

“Good evening, my lord,” said Ludingdon, stepping out from the crowd. His excessive height always annoyed Henry—and even more so in this instance.

“What is this?” the king blustered.
 

“’Tis obvious why you are here,” Ludingdon—one of his most trusted barons, a long-term friend and confidante—replied. His voice was firm, his eyes dark and serious. “And methinks ’tis just as obvious why we have chosen to greet you thus. There is not one of us who wishes to believe our king and liege would help himself to our wives or daughters at his whim. Thus, we are certain the purpose of your visit this night is to extend your felicitations to Lady Judith. And for no other reason…despite any past…arrangement…you may have had. Is that not so, my lord?”

Henry looked around the chamber, meeting the cold, steady eyes of every man there. Every one of them were important, powerful men. Vital to him and to the stability of his kingdom. They swore fealty and brought armies and fought his wars and paid his rents. And in this, he recognized, they were united against him.

If, in this small matter they could unite against him…what more could they do on a grander scale if they were angered and betrayed?

Henry was no fool. He was not the most powerful landowner and ruler in all of Christendom for no reason.
 

“Indeed,” he said then, making a grand gesture that encompassed the chamber. “If the lady is within, I would be delighted to extend my congratulations to her on her new marital status.”

With those words, it was as if a signal had been made. The crowd of barons parted, revealing the bed on which Judith sat. She looked at Henry, her expression remote and cool, and bowed her head regally. Just like a queen.

“Thank you, my lord,” she told him. “I am honored.”

There was a moment then, when Henry nearly allowed his fury and desires to overcome his rational mind, but he quickly subdued it. “Blessings to you and Warwick, and many children to you,” he said.
 

And then, with one last cold scan around the chamber to look at each one of his audacious barons, Henry turned and left the room.
 

He knew when the battle—and the war—had been lost.

~*~

Judith had been nervous while
awaiting the king’s expected arrival, but after her champions quit the chamber, her apprehension grew.

When a firm knock came once more on the door, she felt her belly drop alarmingly.
My wedding night. My husband.

She moved slowly to the door, opening it with cold fingers, and was relieved to find Maris there. Behind her was Tabby, and behind
her
was a lineup of pages and serfs with a bath.

“Oh, bless you,” she told Maris and Tabby. “I have felt so out of sorts, being wed in such a state.” She gestured to her garb, still the same simple bliaut she’d donned early this morrow when she expected to remain the whole day in her chamber.
 

“’Tis a shame you were forced to marry in that gown,” Maris told her, wrinkling her nose in tacit agreement that her attire was, indeed, an unfortunate matter. “But there was no help for it. But now we shall prepare you for a beautiful wedding night. Your groom has agreed to give us no more than a half hour, so we must be quick.”

Judith was grateful not only for the companionship, but for the flurry of activity. It took her mind off Malcolm’s imminent arrival and made her feel less as if she were waiting like a lamb being brought to slaughter.

Maris must have sensed her apprehension, for shortly after she and Tabby helped Judith from the bath, she said to the maid, “Go you now—take your small zoo with you. A wedding bower is no place for a dog and cat, methinks. You may attend your mistress on the morrow. But not too early, mind you.”

Tabby nodded and did as she was bid while Maris helped Judith dry. Her hair was washed earlier, so they’d pinned it up for the bath. But now Maris helped her take it down and let it fall freely about her shoulders, over her breasts and to her hips.
 

When the chamber door closed behind Tabby, Maris offered Judith a small bundle. “Since you did not have a pretty gown for today, I bethought you would like something for this night.”

Giving her friend a grateful smile, Judith unwrapped a fine, shimmering swath of blue cloth. She held it up and saw that not only did the light filter through it, but she could see her fingers from the other side. It was very nearly sheer, shot with gold and silver threads fashioned into intricately embroidered flowers. Little more than a loose, flowing tunic that skimmed the floor, the gown’s shoulders were gathered together by palm-sized clusters of topazes, garnets and sapphires set in ornate gold.

“Oh! But this is too much,” Judith gasped. “Why, it must have cost a fortune! Maris, I cannot accept this!”

But her friend was shaking her head. “Nay, my love. The fabric is my wedding gift to you, but the jeweled brooches are a bride’s gift from your husband.” Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “It shows the extent to which Warwick values you.”

Judith felt her cheeks flush hot. “I am not so certain of that,” she murmured, suddenly nervous again. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the fine, gossamer fabric and the heavy, glittering clasps.

Maris wisely chose to say nothing about her comment. Instead, she unraveled Judith from the drying cloth and helped her into the sleeping gown. “You will entrance him,” she told her, surveying the bride critically. “He will be beside himself when he sees you.”

“Oh,” Judith said, suddenly no longer able to keep quiet. “I am so nervous! Why am I so nervous? I am no shy virgin, that is sure.” These last words came out choppy and bitter, and she looked away in shame.

Maris took her hand and squeezed it. “But of course you are nervous. Surely there has never been a bride who is not so on her wedding night. But I tell you true…you are a virgin in the true sense of the word.” When Judith would have interrupted, she
tsk
ed and shook her head. “Nay, listen you. ’Tis a whole world different lying with a man whom you love than one you do not.”

Judith looked at her with wide eyes. “How…why do you say I love him?”

Her friend rolled her eyes and
tsk
ed again. “’Tis there for anyone to see who might look. And that, dear Judith, is the most wonderful gift of all. Enjoy your husband, for I trow he will do the same with you. If he does not, the man is addled!”

Before Judith could respond, another knock sounded at the door. Firm, spare, and yet demanding.

“He is here. Our half hour has passed.” Maris stood and patted Judith’s hand. “Have no fear. All will be well.” With a swirl of gown and quick, energetic steps, she went to the door and opened it. “Good evening, my lord. And good night.”

Suddenly Maris was gone and Judith and Malcolm were alone.

The door closed with a quiet scrape, and the latch clunked into place. Judith’s new husband walked into the room, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. The chamber seemed to shrink, becoming very small and warm.
 

Malcolm turned to look at Judith, who was still sitting on the bed with a lap filled with gossamer blue fabric and fiery-red hair, and he stilled. His gaze, heavy and hot, slid over her slowly, raising little shivers on her skin as if he actually touched her. She saw him draw in a deep breath, then he released it in a long, low exhale.