Love Above All (37 page)

Nor would either young woman answer her
questions as to what she was going to wear for a wedding gown.
Whenever she tried to press the issue Quentin appeared to distract
her. Wrapped in a haze of sensual longing as she was, Fionna
couldn’t bring herself to persist when Catherine promised her that
all would be well.

Three days after Quentin and Royce returned,
a small party composed of a noble couple and a few men-at-arms rode
through the gates of Wortham Castle.

“Are these the mysterious guests?” Fionna
asked Quentin when word of the arrival reached the great hall.

“Wait and see,” he responded, his eyes
sparkling with laughter.

“If either you or Royce use those words to me
one more time,” Fionna warned, “I swear, I will scream the castle
walls down!”

“There’s no need for screaming,” Royce told
her, laying a hand on her shoulder to turn her toward the entry
arch. “Here they are.”

Lord Walter, the constable of Carlisle
Castle, and Lady Agnes walked into the great hall.

“You are the surprise!” Fionna exclaimed in
delight. Rushing forward she embraced Lady Agnes. “How glad I am to
see you again.”

“I thought of you so often after you left
Carlisle,” Lady Agnes said. “Walter and I were at St. Albans for
the Christmas court when Quentin and Royce arrived. We heard all of
your news from them, and then Royce invited us to stop at Wortham
on our way back to Carlisle, so we might attend your wedding.

“Royce’s wife and I were dear friends,” Lady
Agnes continued, “and I’ve known Catherine since she was a baby. I
am so pleased that you are marrying Quentin. He deserves some
happiness.”

“I have found my life’s happiness with
Fionna,” Quentin said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Let us now set the wedding date,” Royce
suggested. “Will tomorrow morning be agreeable?”

“Agreeable,” Quentin responded with a laugh,
“but not nearly soon enough.”

Fionna’s hands flew to her cheeks to cover
her blush, though she laughed, too, when Quentin winked at her.

The lady whom Catherine called Aunt Agnes was
soon swept up in last-minute wedding preparations. She had brought
with her a chest full of bridal gifts, most of them personal gifts
for Fionna, though there was a silver basin with matching ewer for
Quentin’s great hall.

“Alney Castle is well appointed,” Agnes said
to Fionna, “so you won’t need household goods. But I suspect you
still don’t have many clothes. Catherine is shorter than you, so I
know her gowns cannot fit you well. That’s why I brought this, as
my personal wedding gift to you.” She unfolded a pale blue silk
gown.

“How lovely!” Fionna cried. Then she noticed
the secret look that passed between Catherine and Agnes.

“You knew!” she accused Catherine, who began
to laugh.

“Why do you think I put you off every time
you mentioned your wedding gown?” Catherine asked. “Father told me
about Aunt Agnes’ plans on the night he returned.”

“We did keep the secret,” Janet remarked,
looking smug. “You never guessed, did you, Fionna?”

“What? You knew about it, too?” Fionna
exclaimed.

“Do you think I can’t keep quiet in a good
cause?” Janet asked.

“I think I have the best sister, and two of
the dearest friends, that any woman could possibly want,” Fionna
responded, gulping back happy tears. “And here I was beginning to
fear I’d have to wear the green silk gown yet again. It is a pretty
dress, Agnes, but it is very well worn!”

Lady Agnes’ many gifts filled the wooden
chest with fine linen shifts, stockings, shoes, and shawls, as well
as several gowns of silk or wool. Fionna’s blue silk wedding dress
was simply made, with a wide, round neckline and long sleeves that
flared as they reached her wrists. Under her gown Fionna wore a
linen shift with long, tight sleeves and delicate blue and white
embroidery at the wrists, the embroidery placed so it would show
beneath the edge of the dress sleeves. A sash of soft, gilded
leather wrapped about her waist, and she wore matching gilded
leather shoes.

No flowers were available in mid winter, but
Catherine snipped a few sprigs of rosemary from a pot of the herb
that the cook kept growing year-round in the kitchen. Janet and
Agnes devised a wreath of braided ribbons in shades of blue and
green, with the rosemary tucked into the ribbons, for Fionna to
wear on her loosely flowing hair.

Janet wore the silk gown that one of Queen
Sybilla’s attendants had given her in Edinburgh. Janet and
Catherine were Fionna’s attendants, with Royce acting as her
father. Lord Walter and Sir William were Quentin’s witnesses.

The marriage ceremony was simple and private.
In early morning Fionna and Quentin presented themselves at the
door of the chapel, with their attendants and Lady Agnes, who
carried a dainty square of silk with which to wipe her eyes,
because she was already weeping softly.

Just outside the chapel door Royce’s
secretary had set up a small table, with ink bottle, quills, a coil
of sealing wax, and a lighted candle to melt the wax. Standing next
to the table Father Aymon, who was Royce’s chaplain, read aloud the
terms of the marriage contract. Fionna’s dowry, the small property
granted to her by King Henry, passed to Quentin, to be administered
by him until their second child inherited it. Having once been
without a dowry, Fionna had insisted that any daughter of hers must
have the right to inherit that property, and Quentin had allowed
Father Aymon to make the alteration to the original contract
brought from St. Albans.

As soon as the contract was signed or sealed
by all of the witnesses, Father Aymon led them into the chapel,
where he conducted a Mass to bless the marriage.

Then it was time for the public part of the
festivities, the banquet that Catherine and Janet had organized.
Royce had declared a holiday for the folk of Wortham, both castle
and village, and had ordered roast beef, ale, and a good supply of
pastries to be sent to the village square for everyone there to
enjoy.

In the great hall of the castle the meal
lasted all day, the many courses interspersed with entertainments.
At the first sign of warmer weather minstrels had appeared at the
gates of Wortham, and Catherine had welcomed them, bidding them
stay for the wedding. Thus, lord and lady, minstrel, juggler and
knight, scullery maid and stable boy, all celebrated together.

A roasted side of beef, a haunch of venison,
pies of minced meats combined with spices, vegetable stews, and
fine white bread for all began the meal. Next came small game
birds, stuffed and roasted on spits, custards flavored with
almonds, cakes made with honey, dried fruits, and nuts. Wine and
ale flowed freely.

Then, finally, the pastry cook supervised the
presentation of his triumph, which was rolled into the hall on a
linen-covered cart. Everyone began to applaud. Some of the smaller
boys leapt onto benches, and a few climbed onto tabletops, to see
the amazing creation.

A large silver tray rested atop the cart and
there on the tray sat a pastry replica of a castle, complete with
towers, battlements, an oversized double main gate made of dark
gingerbread, and a drawbridge that was lowered over a green jelly
moat. Behind the pastry outer wall the tower keep rose in golden,
baked splendor, pierced here and there with tiny arrow-slits. The
gingerbread door to the tower was closed.

The pastry cook bowed, accepting the cheers
and applause as his just due for the work he had done. His round
cheeks were flushed pink with the compliments he was receiving.

“By all the saints, it’s Alney Castle!”
Quentin exclaimed. “Master Cook, how did you create this marvel
when you have never seen the place?”

“My lord Royce described Alney Castle to me,”
the cook answered. “I drew a picture from his description. Then he
corrected the picture until I had it right, and I used the sketch
to make the miniature castle.”

“It’s amazingly like the real castle,”
Quentin said.

“Thank you, my lord.” The cook beamed his
happiness.

“Now, show everyone what you’ve hidden inside
the keep,” Catherine instructed the cook.

“My lady, I think Lord Quentin and his bride
ought to have the honor of opening the keep,” the cook said.

Quentin rose from the table, laughing, and
held out his hand to Fionna. She went with him to the cart that
rested just in front of the dais. The cook handed Quentin a thin,
pointed knife.

“Shall we do this together, my love?” Quentin
held the handle of the knife toward Fionna. She took it and he put
his hand over hers. Working carefully, they used the knife to pry
open the gingerbread door of the little keep. A deluge followed, as
tiny, round cakes iced in red, blue, or yellow tumbled through the
open door and into the miniature bailey.

“These,” explained the cook, “are the gifts
of love and joy that await Lord Quentin and Lady Fionna at
Alney.”

“It’s wonderful,” Fionna said. “Thank you so
much, Master Cook.”

“Don’t praise him too highly,” Royce
commanded her, “or he’ll expect to go with you to Alney, and I
don’t want to part with him.”

“I won’t tempt him away from you,” Fionna
promised, “so long as you invite Quentin and me to Wortham often,
so we can enjoy his other masterpieces.”

The pastry cook received a more tangible
reward than praise, for Quentin spoke to one of his squires, who
presented the man with a purse well filled with coins as he left
the hall.

The little, decorated cakes were gingerbread,
which Fionna and Janet had never before tasted. Janet ate three of
the cakes, sighing with pleasure each time she took a bite. Fionna
nibbled at a single cake. The taste was delicious, but she was too
nervous to eat much.

It shouldn’t be so; she and Quentin had made
love several times, and she knew what to expect. Or did she? Her
bridal night was not going to be an hour or two in a tent or a
leaky hut, time stolen during a hurried and frightening journey.
Instead of a narrow cot, she and Quentin would be sharing the bed
in which she had slept for weeks.

She was Quentin’s wife now, and he was going
to expect her to obey him, to bear his children, to manage Alney
Castle. That last requirement was going to be very different from
acting as chatelaine of Dungalash, with its wooden tower, smokey
great hall, and the crowded loft where all the unmarried women
slept together.

Oh, why? Fionna asked herself in a silent
wail, why hadn’t she paid more attention to what Catherine did each
day? Why hadn’t she seized the opportunity to learn as much as she
could about the domestic details of a large castle?

“Fionna?” Quentin said, laying his hand over
hers so unexpectedly that Fionna jumped. “You look terrified.
Surely, you aren’t afraid of me?”

“I was thinking of all the things you will
expect of me now,” she whispered.

“And that frightens you?”

“I am not afraid!” she cried, so loudly that
Royce and Lord Walter paused in their conversation to look at
her.

“You sound just like Janet when she’s
afraid,” Quentin said, smiling slightly.

“I have never been afraid in my life!” Janet
declared from behind Quentin’s chair. She laid a hand on the chair
back and frowned at him.

“Janet, you are just in time,” Quentin said.
“Will you and Catherine and Agnes be good enough to escort my wife
to her chamber and prepare her for bed? I will join you shortly,”
he said to Fionna. When she didn’t respond at once, he leaned over
to kiss her on the mouth.

Fionna rose, though she wasn’t sure whether
or not her legs would support her. Then Janet and Catherine each
put an arm around her waist and she leaned against them. Lady Agnes
was already leading the way toward the stairs, along with a
maidservant she had commandeered. Cheers, laughter, and a few bawdy
jokes followed their progress to the upper level of the keep.

The bridal chamber was warm, with charcoal
glowing in the brazier. Lady Agnes set the maid to work lighting
candles, while she personally turned down the bedcovers. There were
more candles than usual, for the bedding of the bridal pair was an
important part of the wedding ceremonies. So was the ritual
undressing and bathing of the bride, to prepare her for her new
husband’s first embrace.

Fionna submitted quietly to what the others
were doing. She stood in the tub while Catherine held her hair out
of the way and Lady Agnes poured warm, scented water over her. She
had bathed more thoroughly and washed her hair in early morning,
but the great hall was over heated with so many people in it, and
the quick sluicing was refreshing.

Fionna noticed Janet watching everything the
women were doing with great interest, as if she was making note of
Norman customs in anticipation of her own wedding to Cadwallon. Not
once did Janet criticize or complain. She blushed, she smiled, she
looked happy, and her contentment in her new life was a comfort to
Fionna.

The ladies dried Fionna, then tucked her
naked into bed a bare instant before a loud knock sounded at the
door. After a glance at Fionna to be certain she was covered by the
sheet, Lady Agnes opened the door to admit the men.

Quentin was completely naked. Royce, Lord
Walter, and Quentin’s two squires, all pushed him through the
doorway. They were followed by Sir William and a few of Royce’s
men-at-arms who had ridden to Scotland with them. To Fionna’s
surprise, Father Aymon was present, also.

“Into bed with you, lad!” Lord Walter
instructed Quentin. He slung an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“Ah, Agnes, do you recall our bridal night?”

“Indeed, I do,” Lady Agnes responded,
laughing. “You were so nervous you drank too much at the feast, and
you fell asleep before our bedchamber door was closed!”