Strangclyf Secret (4 page)

“
Aye, but I wish to please
him, not embarrass him. I have never been to a royal court before
and I know not how to act. I fear my lack will be scrutinized and
reflect on Bernon,” she admitted, as Balen began guiding her
through the corridors.

“
Act as if everything you
do is perfect and everyone else is inferior for not acting the same
way,” he advised, waving his hand in an airy gesture, as she
followed his footsteps.

“
You jest! ‘Twould insult
the king and anger Bernon if I behaved thusly.”

“
Aye, I jest.” Balen winked
at her and patted her hand. “Follow Bernon’s lead. If you are
unsure of something, ask him. He will help you through the evening
ahead.”

“
I am so nervous right now
I could toss up my stomach,” she confessed, rubbing a hand over her
middle.

“
Now
that
would be an embarrassment.” Balen chuckled then stopped in
front of a huge set of double doors. “Just remember everyone here
is mortal, whether they think of themselves that way or not. They
all have flaws, which they try to hide, and they are just as
nervous as you are. Now take a deep breath and smile. We are
here.”

Barwolf did as Balen
instructed. He led her into a huge stone hall lit by hundreds of
tallows flickering in enormous cast-iron chandeliers suspended by
giant chains. Men and women, arrayed in a rainbow of finery,
mingled about the perimeters between large wooden columns that
reached to the two-story ceiling. Servants were placing long
trestle tables in the center of the chamber for the pending meal.
The buzz of conversation declined as curious eyes turned toward
her.

She quickly picked out
Bernon’s dark features towering above the crowd. Happiness curved
her lips as she noticed the gold fighting bear on his tunic. Then
she saw the arm wrapped around his sleeve. She narrowed her eyes
and scowled, reminding herself not to kill. The least Bernon could
have done was give her a chance before he embarrassed
her.

Her steps slowed and Balen
glanced down. “Smile, little sister,” he whispered through clenched
teeth, “and tell me what is wrong before every eye fastened on us
sees your rage.”

She sucked in a breath,
halted and faced Balen, forcing a tight smile and raising her
pointed chin. “I heard he hates women, yet he has a strumpet
attached to him now. I’ll not approach him and give him the title
until she is gone. As his bride I may deserve no respect, but as
The Strangclyf, ‘tis my due.”

Balen cast an irritated
frown at Bernon then narrowed his eyes at the woman holding his
arm. “Fickle wench,” Balen muttered under his breath. He cleared
his throat and glanced back down at his new sister, his face devoid
of all expression. “’Tis your due as his bride as well, but ‘tis
better to ignore this insult than create a scene.”

Oh Lord, what was she
thinking? Bernon would be livid if she caused a spectacle. She knew
that. What made her want more than her people needed? Nothing she
deserved, she’d warrant. Barwolf gulped and nodded. “Aye, you are
right, Balen. ‘Tis also better not to incite his wrath when he is
already displeased with my existence.”

“
Good girl. Now shoulders
back and head high. Remember, you are The Strangclyf and this is
your first public meeting with your husband.”

Before he could resume
their pace into the hall, she clutched his arm tighter. “Will you
stay with me for courage, Balen?”

He smiled down at her.
“For as long as you need me and Bernon permits. And for what it is
worth, I am pleased to welcome you as my sister.”

~ * ~

Bernon caught the flash of
fury in his bride’s eyes as she noticed Lucretia at his side.
Barwolf had a lot to learn about being his. He would tolerate no
insubordination or dramatics from her.

“
I am disappointed,
Bernon,” Queen Matilda said from where she stood with William. “I
expected her to wear your colors.”

Bernon watched his bride
resume her progress toward him on Balen’s arm. He wanted to answer
the queen, but honest to God, how could he? His breath was stuck
somewhere in his windpipe and wouldn’t move. His bride looked like
an elfin fairy princess without wings—an ethereal vision in ice
blue and white. Her gown appeared an unusual wrap-around style,
double-belted at her tiny waist with wide metal links. Long flowing
sleeves fell almost to the floor, and her hem dragged the ground a
few inches longer than the court fashion. A matching blue linen
scarf encircled her neck, concealing her bruises, and a white
gossamer veil draped her short locks. Even among the Saxon nobles,
he’d not seen such an elegant garment.

“
She means no insult to her
husband, my queen,” Geno said, stepping nearer. “With her father
dead, she is The Strangclyf, so wears the colors bequeathed to
her.”

Queen Matilda appeared
somewhat mollified and nodded. Geno turned his attention to the
woman clinging to Bernon. “Come, Lucretia. You promised me a
wonderful evening and crush me with neglect.”

Out of the corner of his
eye, Bernon noticed Lucretia glance his way. He ignored her. He
kept his gaze fastened on his bride as Lucretia finally
relinquished his arm and went to Geno.

Barwolf halted, removed
her hand from Balen’s arm, and then moved until she stood five feet
in front of her husband. She took a deep breath then leveled her
gaze directly at his chin. “Bernon of Normandy, I stand before you
as The Strangclyf. Do you claim me and accept the duties of the
title I would bestow?”

“
Aye. Come—”

She gasped and cut him off
with frantic words. “Do not introduce me to anyone yet,
please.”

He glowered down at her
desperate expression, wondering what game she played.

She moved closer and
whispered, “Though I believe ‘twas his intent, my father never
pledged fealty to King William. A Lady Strangclyf may not change
allegiance, so I cannot bow before your king until you have the
title and tell me I may do so. I would rather not anger a man with
King Williams’s great powers.”

Her hushed words carried
to the small group around them, and the monarch’s eyes twinkled at
her compliment. “Let her proceed, Bernon. I will receive the
introduction when she is finished.”

Bernon suppressed a
mocking snort and shrugged. “Get on with it.”

Barwolf swallowed and
lowered her gaze. “I need to borrow your dagger, please. I still
cannot find my blade.”

He removed a pearl-hilted
dagger from the sheath on his belt and handed the weapon to
her.

“
I need to make a small cut
in your right palm.”

Holding out his hand, he
watched her make a small nick in the heel of his palm. Then she
placed the tip of the blade against her palm, closed her eyes, and
scrunched her face. That scrunch took on increasingly painful
dimensions that worsened as she pressed the blade.

She opened one eye then
the other. She looked at her hand, sighed, and tugged on the front
of his tunic. He leaned down, and she whispered, “I apologize,
Bernon. I am a coward. Would you please cut my hand?”

Accepting the dagger, he
grasped the dainty hand she held out to him. Calluses grated
against his own and he frowned at her rough, reddened flesh. What
in perdition had she been doing with her hands? The boat trip here
could account for the rawness, but those calluses had developed
over time. He rubbed his thumb over the roughened skin. A tiny gasp
slipped from her lips and she trembled as a pink hue highlighted
her cheeks. God’s bones, if she blushed this easily from a
dispassionate touch, how would she react to the bedding? He sighed
and made a small cut in her palm then sheathed his dagger. She
didn’t even flinch and he was somehow intrigued that such a coward
could not only accomplish that feat but could also guide a boat
from Strangclyf to Londontown to save her holding.

After he finished the
small cut, she placed her wound over his. “May the blood of my
ancestors flow into you, giving you the wisdom of the
ages.”

She removed her hand from
his, took off the wide metal-link belt and brought forth a large
sword that had been hidden in the folds and sleeve of her gown. It
bore a jewel-encrusted ebony and gold grip and was monumental in
length. She tried slipping the belt around his waist but her
breasts pressed against him. He had no time to savor the moment as
the blood rushed through his veins. She gasped and dropped the
chain then clutched the sword to her chest. “I am sorry, Bernon.
I...I...”

At her floundering, Bernon
picked up the chain and pulled the end around for her. He would
find the time to explore his bride’s passions later…as soon as
mortally possible.

She accepted the links
with a tremulous smile and secured the sword at his side. “I give
you Intrepid, the sword of Strangclyf. With her may you always
execute justice with valor.”

She looked up at him then
cast a nervous gaze around the hall at the people. A scarlet hue
flamed across her cheeks. Returning her gaze to his, she tugged on
the front of his tunic. He rolled his eyes and leaned down. She
quickly placed a gentle hand on each side of his face and
feather-brushed her lips over his. “May my heart temper your might
with mercy.” She released his face and muttered, “There now. That
wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Bernon didn’t even try to
answer the obviously rhetorical question. He was too surprised by
the current that flowed from her lips into his. She had his heart
pounding and his palms sweating. Hell, he had ignored the court
women too long. That was it. A good lay and he’d be
fine.

Taking his right hand, she
slipped a ring on his fourth finger. “With this ring I give you the
seal of Strangclyf and rightful claim to my title and holdings.”
Taking a step backward, she looked in his eyes and spoke in a
strong clear voice he hadn’t expected his bride to possess. “Before
Almighty God and these witnesses, I say you are The Strangclyf and
I am no more.”

His bride reached up and
removed the veil from her head and the scarf from her throat then
dropped them to the floor. Pulling a cord at her waist, she
shrugged off her gown, letting it fall to her feet, revealing a
gold kirtle of Norman fashion that complemented his black tunic.
Made of chainsil with the same gold and black braid at the
shoulders and cuffs, the gown bore a black fighting bear
embroidered over her chest. A longer matching braid encircled her
midriff and double wrapped her waist, falling low over her hips
where a gold
agraffe
shaped like a fighting bear secured the girdle. A wide black
ribbon hid the bruises at her throat and shimmering short locks
haloed her head with gold.

Bernon barely had a chance
to absorb her appearance before she went down upon her knees,
placed her right hand over her heart, and bowed her head. “You are
now The Strangclyf and my liege lord. To you I pledge my loyalty,
my protection, and my life. May your life be long, peaceful, and
prosperous.”

The fairy princess was
wearing his colors and giving him her pledge. His chest tightened
and he schooled his expression. No pledge from any warrior had ever
affected him this way. So why did hers? He extended a hand toward
her.

She stared at his hand as
if it might bite her then placed her left hand in his. He began
pulling her up.

“
I forgot something,” she
gasped. She knelt again, bowed her head, and placed her right hand
over her heart while still clasping his hand. “I promise I will
honor you and obey you—at least as well as I’m able. But if I
displease you, then I hope you will be patient with me and tell me
what I do wrong, so I do not do it again. I do not know you very
well yet, but I’ll try to love you if you want me to. I make these
vows freely and forever.”

She sprang up and moved to
his side with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her.
Her relieved sigh all but echoed in the hall. At least she knew her
place.

“
What was that last bit all
about?” Bernon asked, approving of her submissive pose.

“’
Twas my wedding vows,”
she answered without glancing up. “I meant to say them before I
made you The Strangclyf, because I have been rather worried that we
might not be truly wed. ‘Twas Geno I spoke the words to before,
after all.”

Bernon wondered if she
always had this tendency to say asinine things? He placed a hand on
the small of her back, and guided her around to face William and
Matilda. “My liege, my queen, I present my bride, Lady
Strangclyf.”

She knelt before the royal
couple, keeping her head bowed.

King William smiled. “She
is charming, Bernon. The perfect height and your colors suit her.
Welcome to my court, Lady Strangclyf.”

She remained silently at
the king’s feet, her tiny frame trembling. Leaning forward, William
slipped a finger under her chin and nudged up her head. “Why such
fright, little lady?”

Barwolf gulped. “Please
forgive me, Your Majesty. I am feeling a little overwhelmed and I
am terrified I may say or do something that displeases my
husband.”