Rose of Hope (40 page)

“This is a good thing, our marriage. I…I am….” She stopped, unable to find the right words.

“I know.”

Fire ignited in his gaze. He kissed her then, long and slow, as if they were alone in their chamber. She was only vaguely aware of the rumble of approval that rose from those around them. When he raised his head, there was that in his face that proclaimed his impatience in waiting for the time they could properly leave the celebrations.

He turned to speak with Trifine, who sat at his right hand.

The rest of that day passed in a haze she was later to remember only as a series of significant moments of piercing clarity, mingled with blurred periods of unmitigated gaiety, feasting, music and song.

One crystal moment was the exchange of wedding gifts between the two couples.

“I, Ysane, do gift to you, my husband, this jeweled hadseax belonging to my brother, Kennard.” She bowed before Fallard. The look on his face assured her he knew the precious value of the gift.

He rose. “I, Fallard, do gift to you, my wife, this drawing of the memory-stone I have commissioned for your father. As you see, the front side remains unmarked. The runes are not yet engraved, for I have need from you the words you wish carved there. But see you, the other two surfaces are complete. This one holds a likeness of Kenrick Wulfsingas drawn from the memory of myself and of others who knew him. Do you find it also meets your remembrance?”

Ysane could only nod. ’Twas a likeness of her father so lifelike, ’twas almost as if he stood before her.

“The other depicts the giant stag, which symbolizes the lords of Wulfsinraed, as it leaps above the rose bush, which signifies the ladies of the hall. I leave to you the decision of the time and place of the raising of the stone.”

Ysane blinked as moisture filled her eyes. “I have chosen, my lord, to place this stone outside the wall of the crypts, nigh the crypt where lies my mother, and where father would have lain had he died at home. ’Tis my decision to wait not for the arrival of my sister, Gemma, for none can say when that might be. Thus, I declare the ceremony of the raising will be held the day after the next new moon, providing the carving may be completed by then. ’Tis also my hope Cynric will have returned, and attend if he should so choose.”

She wished she had not added that last when Fallard’s eyes darkened and his lips compressed. It angered him Cynric had refused to stay for the wedding, thus bringing further hurt to her heart. But he said naught and the mood quickly passed.

The meal was nigh its end when Fallard suddenly stood and called for silence as he banged his empty mead tankard on the table.

“Hear me, one and all! I am pleased at the joining of my First with the woman of his heart. ’Tis my wish they live long within my hall. To that end, be it known this day I gift to Trifine of Falaise and his bride, Roana of Wulfsinraed the two lower chambers of the southeast tower, once held by Ruald the rebel, as their new home. Their belongings have already been moved. New furnishings have been provided in the bower, including a matching set of fruitwood chests commissioned by my knights.” A roar of masculine approval interrupted him. He waited for the uproar to die down. “At my wife’s behest, a private burnstów has been created for their use on the lower floor.” Fallard waggled his eyebrows at Trifine, who lifted his tankard with a nod and a grin. “To lady Roana, from my lady Ysane, goes a pair of pillows of fine purple linen embroidered with a border of lavender flowers, along with the promise of all the real lavender her heart may desire.” Laughter rang through the hall at his words. All knew Roana’s passion for the flower. “To Trifine, who is a
fair
musician, she gifts a silver flute.”

Giggles and guffaws followed Fallard’s understatement, for Trifine, had he wished, could have been a master scop. He played many instruments, and his voice was mellow and fine. ’Twas not uncommon for him to sing with Wurth after sup.

Not once in the hours of revelry that followed did Fallard allow Ysane to be removed from his side. Though many tried, his arm anchored her against his chest. Many were the soft, sweet kisses he stole on the sly, though he showed himself not adverse to a few deeper, more possessive assaults, all of which were met with cheers and roars of advice from the men on the best ways to ‘kiss her right’.

She found no protest with his attentions, for she enjoyed the gentle possession of his touch. She liked the taste of his kisses. The shivers of pleasure he stirred as he nibbled her earlobe, and trailed little caresses down to the pulse that beat at her throat, left her dazed. It helped not at all she also consumed more mead than was her wont, and the mellow haze in her mind grew more pleasant with the passage of time.

When the last of the light faded from the window glazing, Wurth began a popular singing saga of epic proportions. After the first few stanzas to establish the cadence, he nodded to the man sitting at the table nearest him, who took up the refrain. The entire poem was then sung to the hand harp’s melody as each person in the room sang two or three lines, while another of the musicians kept time with the deep rhythm of the
hylsung
. The story was so long the continuing lines passed around the hall thrice ere ’twas finished.

The riddling game followed as each woman in the room tried to remember a riddle to ask their male neighbor. The game took on hilarious proportions as men too amply supplied with wine or mead tried to puzzle out the answer.

Hoping Fallard was unfamiliar with the riddle she selected, Ysane assumed her most severe riddling face and with voice drenched in dark mystery intoned:

“I am by nature solitary, scarred by spear

and wounded by sword, weary of battle.

I frequently see the face of war,

and fight hateful enemies;

yet I hold no hope of help being

brought to me in the battle,

ere I am eventually done to death.

In the stronghold of the city sharp-edged swords,

skillfully forged in the flame by smiths,

bite deeply into me.

I can but await a more fearsome encounter;

’tis not for me to discover in the city

any of those healers who heal grievous wounds

with roots and herbs.

The scars from sword wounds gape wider

and wider,

death blows are dealt me by day and by night.

What am I?”

She sat back, smiling, and waited for Fallard’s answer. ’Twas her best and favorite riddle. The first time it had been told to her, the answer had eluded her for nigh a seven-day. But Fallard was the smartest man she had ever met, next to her father and mayhap, Cynric and Domnall, and she could but hope it kept him guessing for longer than the time it took to speak it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Fallard kept his face expressionless as he debated how long to keep his beautiful wife waiting. That she wanted him not to guess the answer immediately was obvious in her bright, hopeful countenance, but he had figured it within the first stanza. She chose the riddle, he decided, because of its martial nature, thinking it a meet test for him as a soldier. Mayhap, had he not lived by the sword for most of his life it might have come as more of a challenge. But by its very subject, the answer suggested itself to a warrior in its first words.

“Well?” Her eyes took on a glitter of impish triumph. She believed him stumped. “What say you, husband?”

He wanted to please her, so he looked away from her expectant stare and allowed a tiny frown to groove the skin between his eyes. He opened his mouth, still uncertain of what he would say, but was interrupted by the rustle of many skirts. Women surrounded them. Low, feminine laughter further down the table alerted him others encircled Roana.

A long, slow smile spread over his face as a fire ignited in nether parts. ’Twas time for the new brides to retire to their bowers. He kept his face impassive as Ysane realized the women’s purpose. She was rushed away, looking somewhat as she had earlier in the day on the path to the chapel, when he had feared she would fall at his feet like a wilted lily pad. Yet, his heart pounded like the
hylsung
when it seemed to him her look was not one of trepidation, but of the simple hesitancy of any woman newly wed.

Can it be she fears not our night together so much as I expected?

He had little time to ponder the question. The clamor of male voices, which had subsided somewhat, swelled again to a ferocious roar. Raucous laughter accompanied the women’s departure, while the ladies, giggling and chattering, exhibited all the panache of a swarm of demented minnows. They swept his wife into one burnstów, and Roana into the other, followed by the decidedly loud drop of the bars over the doors.

’Twas all he could do to pretend disinterest in the proceedings inside the bathing chamber while he waited for Ysane to be whisked up the stairs. He glanced at his First. Trifine, his smile distinctly feral, watched the opposite burnstów where Roana had been sequestered.

***

Inside the burnstów, Ysane was divested of her wedding finery and urged by the happy women into the waiting hot bath.

Lewena scrubbed her with rose scented soap until she protested. “Lewena, cease! I bathed already this morn and have no need of yet another scrubbing. I will have no skin left if you continue.”

Lynnet’s willing hands lifted her from the bath and dried her with soft, warm linens.

Lewena laughed softly. “Ah, but think how lovely will be your scent, my dear. Fallard will likely lose his head at first whiff, does he not lose his mind at first sight of you in
this
.”

‘This’
was a sleeping gown of the softest, sheerest wool Ysane had ever seen. She had only time to blush at its transparency, note the exquisite embroidery at cuffs and hem and wonder from where the delicate garment had come when she was swathed in a cloak and ushered from the chamber to the lord’s bower, where Lewena usurped Lynnet’s role. While the rest of the women insured the chamber was tidy and the coals in the brazier burned hot while the wine remained cool in its flagon, she plied the brush through Ysane’s tresses with relaxing strokes.

With cries of congratulations and final words of advice, the women dispersed. Ysane felt her heart melt as Lynnet and Luilda offered her glances filled with hopeful concern as they too, glided away, leaving Ysane alone in the silence with her friend. With a final stroke, Lewena laid aside the brush, then sat opposite Ysane on the bed, the covers of which were sprinkled with dried white rose petals, softened in water.

She met Ysane’s gaze straight on. “Roana asked that I speak with you ere I left you alone this eve, but I would have done so regardless.” She paused. “Are you alright, my dear? None of us knows how bad things were between you and Renouf, but those of us closest to you know ’twas a nightmare. That time is not so far past its memories cannot now be looming above you, as threatening as some dreadful sword. Only say the word, dear child, and I will ask Randel to speak to Lord D’Auvrecher in your behalf. He will do so gladly, you know, and I believe Fallard will hear him.”

The kindness of Lewena’s caring words, which were but reflections of the love of her cousin and her women, flowed through Ysane like warm honey, warming her and banishing, for once and for all, the mad dragonflies. How blessed she was to count such discerning and compassionate women among her closest friends.

She smiled, the curve of her lips coming far more easily than she had expected. “Your concern warms my heart and calms my soul, and I thank you for it, my friend. But I am fine, Lewena, verily, more so than I could have believed possible but a few seven-days past. Fallard is a good man and already I care much for him. He will hurt me not. I know this. He has promised I might set the pace of our…marriage, and I believe he will keep his word. I have naught to fear.” She drew a sighing breath. “I can say not yet how fully I will welcome him this night, but who can know? As quickly and easily as his touch stirs my blood, mayhap, this night will indeed see the consummation of our vows.” This she blurted with a breathless little laugh, even as the hot blood flooded her cheeks. “But whatever happens, ’twill be what I wish, and naught further. What more can a mere woman ask?”

“My dear friend.” Lewena’s face reflected her happy relief. “I also think Fallard to be a man worthy of trust, and this promise he has made to you will hold him, though it may try him sorely to keep it if you cannot yet give yourself to him.” Lewena searched her face and nodded as if in answer to an unheard question. “Aye. You will be fine. Well then,” she said, hopping up from her perch. “I will be on my way. I am certain Fallard is quite ready to be alone with you. Come here and get into bed. Quickly, now! The men arrive.”

Indeed, the shouts and footsteps on the stairs grew loud, approaching the very door.

Lewena helped her adjust the bedcovers, then moved gracefully to the side. The men entered, Fallard on their shoulders. Ysane clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle as Fallard maneuvered desperately to avoid having his brains rattled from a hard knock on the header. ’Twas a nigh thing, but somehow, he managed it. Lewena circled behind the men and slipped out to return to the hall.

***

Divested of both mail and clothing with amazing rapidity, Fallard clenched his jaw as he waited for the boisterous company to leave. He had given strict orders regarding this first-night bedding ritual, taking no chances Ysane’s receptiveness to his attentions might be jeopardized by either fear or embarrassment. But in the frenzy, the command to leave on his braies was either lost or ignored. Jehan set about clearing the bower with satisfying speed—with Domnall according Trifine the same favor across the hall. A straggler or two were dealt with courtesy of Varin, whose grin of approval stretched wide as his great shoulders. When all was clear, Jehan quitted the room with a broad wink ere pulling the door closed.