Page 14 of Defy Not the Heart

  That the clothes were made especially for him was indicated by their perfect fit. That Ranulf did not care was indicative of his mood, still sunk in gloom.

  He heard little of the praise from his friends for his new finery, did not even recognize his wife when she entered the hall, and was barely aware of being ush­ered out of the keep for the short ride to the village, where the ceremony was to take place before the vil­lage church. With prodding from the priest, he man­aged to repeat the terms of the marriage contract, what he was to contribute to the marriage, and give his wife a ring in token of the dower, as well as a gift of gold coins. The ring and the money represented a pledge, in Old English, a wed, whence a wedding. The vows were then exchanged for all to hear, and before Ranulf knew it, they were moving inside the church for the nuptial mass.

  Yet even during the long mass, it did not dawn on him that it was actually accomplished. He had wed his lady wife again. He had warned his men to be prepared for anything, but he was so in a daze him­self, he could have been struck down from any side and not seen the blow coming. Not until the mass was over and Sir Henry approached him right there in the church to hear him swear homage to Shefford, did Ranulf begin to suspect what an idiot he had been. That done, the Clydon vassals were quick to do like­wise, and swore fealty to him for their honors then and there.

  No longer dazed but still thoroughly bemused, Ranulf looked at his wife, who held to his arm as they left the church together. "You married me?"

  She trilled a soft laugh before she leaned closer to whisper up at him, "I am glad you were at our first wedding, my lord, for you surely have not been much present at this one."

  It was a red-faced groom who was greeted by the cheering crowd outside the church.

  Chapter Twenty

  If Ranulf thought he had been served a feast yester­day in honor of Sir Henry's arrival, his wedding feast was worthy of a king. A total of six courses was served, double the normal number, each course con­sisting of numerous dishes each of meat, fowl, fish, eggs, vegetables, desserts, and ended with a subtlety, a sugar, paste, and jelly concoction shaped to depict something, in this case scenes of courtly love.

  Complete ceremony was observed, with the pantler arriving first with the bread and butter, followed by the butler and his assistants with the wine and ale. Squires lined up behind tables to serve their respec­tive knights, and to cut and replace the trenchers after each course.

  With such variety, everyone's appetite was well sat­isfied. Roasted were venison, boar, lamb, veal, par­tridges, and peacocks. There were partridges also in a mustard and ginger sauce, or stuffed with eggs and herbs, and a number of stewed meats for those with not so sturdy teeth. For different tastes in fowl, wood­cocks, mallards, herons, plovers, larks, and red­shanks were also served. For those who preferred fish, there was turbot basted with verjuice and spices, oys­ters served on a bed of parsley soaked in vinegar, haddock cooked with garlic butter, boiled mackerel with mint and sorrel sauce, or fresh herring, craw­fish, mussels, lamprey, and fish tarts. The desserts were too many to name, from spiced fruits to pastries with every kind of sweet filling.

  His wife had not lied when she said she had no lack in food stores at Clydon. With such abundance, the feast naturally lasted the remainder of the day. Entertainment was nonstop, with music, or jokes and stories provided by the guests so inclined or by the dozens of wandering performers hired for the special occasion.

  When Ranulf returned from the privy, it was to find the lower tables gone and a noisy carole in progress, where the dancers joined hands and sang as they cir­cled. His lady had joined in, and as he watched her laughing and singing with the others, he realized it was the first time all day that he was really seeing her, though she had been near his side ever since leaving the church.

  She glowed with a special loveliness that had naught to do with her glittering attire. Her chemise was the same white silk as his tunic, shot through with silver, her bliaut a bright blue sarcenet silk edged with silver embroidery, and girded about her hips was a belt sparkling with red and blue gems. She wore no mantle or veil to detract from the richness of her clothes, and her lustrous black hair was unbound and flowing about her as she danced, crowned with a cir­clet of silver that slanted endearingly to one side.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her lovely blue eyes gleamed with pleasure, and without warning, Ran-ulfs body came alive as he watched her. Annoyance quickly followed.

  He resumed his seat at the high table, the seat of honor, aye, the lord's chair, his chair. It did not mat­ter that this had been the chair offered him every time he had sat at this table. Today it was truly his. Yet when he thought of the agony of doubt he had taken to bed last night, he could dredge up no satisfaction. And she had been amused by his surprise in the church, teasing him about it. 'Twas more than likely that she had deliberately provoked his suspicions with that smug little smile of hers last night, just so he would suffer through the night. She was devious, spiteful, everything he knew a lady like her to be-yet he looked at her carefree abandon in the dance and felt lust for her. He must be mad.

  She was out of breath when she returned to him, the short hairs curling damply about her face, laugh­ing at some jest called out to her from a noble across the room. She did not glance at Ranulf once, so he was surprised from his dark thoughts when she spoke to him.

  "You do not dance, my lord?"

  "Nay."

  **I do not much either, though 'tis expected to­day."

  Ranulf was in no mood for frivolous conversation, "When do you . . . that is, will your ladies escott you from the hall soon?"

  "Oh, but 'tis early yet."

  It annoyed him that she still would not look at him, enough to ask, "Have you your little vial handy?"

  "Of course," she replied absently.

  That had not gotten a reaction from her either, and he was of half a mind to pull her across his lap to see if that would. But then her cerulean eyes did turn to him, proving she had been attentive to his questions. Only she had misunderstood his motive.

  "You need not be nervous about the bedding ceremony," she told him in a soft murmur. "There is no question that you wilj repudiate me, nor I you, so we need not be stood naked before each other and the guests for inspection."

  He grunted, even more annoyed with her. Why was it she never blushed when speaking so plainly of such matters? The control she had of her emotions was commendable, yet thoroughly irritating just now.

  She interpreted his frown correctly. "You are not enjoying yourself, my lord? Is there aught I can—"

  "You can get yourself to bed, lady, and right quickly. I want the last formalities of the day con­cluded."

  Now she blushed, and her eyes dropped to her lap. She sat there silently for a long moment, but at last she gave a stiff little nod and rose to leave.

  Ranulf sat back, feeling the tension flow out of him. He had not realized how important her response had become to him in those long seconds of silence. If she had tried to gainsay him—but she had not. She had taken his words as an order and obeyed, giving him a most satisfying feeling that lasted all of two minutes, when it dawned on him that the hour was early yet, and that his wife had been enjoying herself immensely until he had visited his dark mood on her. And, verily, he had no reason to be in such a grouch. Was he not lord of all he surveyed? The most fortu­nate man there? As powerful now as his own father? Aye, but what had he done to earn it?

  "What is that doing up here?"

  Reina saw the "that" in question lying smack in the center of her wedding bed. She had had Lady Ella doused for fleas when the cat showed up with the rest of Ranulfs men, but she had not realized the creature had been sharing the chamber with her master.

  " Tis Ranulfs pet," she replied to Dame Hilary's huffy question.

  "Truly?" One of the other ladies giggled.

  Reina had to smile, too. If they thought that was funny, wait until they saw the ugly creature wrapped around the giant's neck.
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  "But animals have never been allowed on this floor," Dame Hilary persisted.

  Reina shrugged. "Clydon has a new lord now. If he desires his pet in his chamber, who is to gainsay him?"

  "You are, my lady."

  My, what confidence they had in her. If they could have seen how hastily she had scurried off to collect them for the bedding, they would not be so quick to think she could get rid of one scrawny cat. Of course, it might be called the lord's chamber, but the sleeping quarters were traditionally the lady's domain. She would have a say about whom she shared those quar­ters with—aside from her lord, that is.

  Thinking of him and how flustered he had made her with his growled order to get herself to bed, she told Dame Florette, "Take it to the kitchen for some warm milk." Then, thinking how the cook would not appreciate that, she added, "Explain to the kitchen staff who it belongs to, so they do not chase it out to the stables."

  "Does it bite?" the young widow asked warily.

  Hilary picked Lady Ella up by the scruff of her neck and shoved her at Florette. "If it does, bite it back."

  That brought a round of laughter, and Reina's nervousness eased somewhat as she joined in. She had already experienced the first bedding, which was the worst, so she had no real reason to be nervous now— yet she was. Mayhap she should not have ordered her husband's wine watered down so much that it was nigh colored water. He might have enjoyed himself more if he were a little drunk, and not rushed her up here. Mayhap she should not have teased him today either. His behavior had been strange all day, waxing between bemusement and plain sourness, no mood to take teasing in fun, as it was meant.

  What could she expect from a sober, disgruntled giant? Rough and quick again? Or rough and long? Jesii, she must have been mad to bring this on herself! Or mayhap there would be no bedding at all?

  That thought brightened her considerably. After all, she had told him about the vial of "blood" for the wedding sheets, which Theo had earlier hidden in here. Ranulf did not have to bed her simply because everyone in Qydon expected him to. And he had only 'said he wanted the formalities over with, not that he meant to ...

  She had worked herself into full nervousness again, but as that was the expected state for her to be in, it did not draw comment other than the normal gentle teasing and ribaldry suited to the occasion.

  She remained silent while her clothes were care­fully removed and put away in the aumbry, but seeing the white, silver-threaded chemise in Hilary's hands reminded her that her husband had not even men­tioned his new clothes. Her ladies had worked long hours at her behest to finish his mantle and chausses in time. She herself had sewn his tunic to match her own clothing from an extra bolt of the precious sandal she had been saving. Though why she had bothered she did not know, and was not likely to do so again when the man showed such little appreciation.

  Yet he had looked fine, so fine. Did she really need to hear his thanks when she had felt so proud on first sight of him in his splendid attire?

  She sighed, then recalled where she was and blushed. But no one had heard her. The women were too busy giggling at each other's jests.

  Lady Margaret produced a comb and began strok­ing it through Reina's long hair, but after a moment they heard the men coming, and Reina was quickly put into bed. There she was to sit waiting like the sacrificial virgin on the altar, which was just how she felt.

  If anyone had thought Ranulf would be carried over the threshold on the shoulders of his merry escort, as was usually the case, Reina could have told them 'twas not likely to happen. Who could lift him? And no one tried. But if Reina had known he led the pack himself up the narrow stairwell, her fear would have in­creased tenfold.

  The ribaldry continued, now more coarse with the men's arrival. Reina refused to listen, or watch as Walter dared to wrest Ranulfs tunic from him. She concentrated on the hunt she had planned for the mor­row; on what to prepare for dinner if at least half the guests stayed on another full day, which was likely; on the visit she owed the village to tend its ills, which she had neglected these past days. She dredged up anything likely to distract her, and then the door closed, breaking her concentration, and she swal­lowed, with difficulty, to see she was alone with her husband.

  He had closed the door, and he wasted no time in coming directly to the bed. He still wore his braies and chausses, though nothing else. Reina held her breath. Was he going to jump on her again? Nay, not this time. He yanked the covers away from her in­stead.

  She gasped, though it was a tiny sound only she heard. He was staring at her body so intently the roof could have fallen on his head and he would not have known it. She still was not breathing, afraid to move, afraid to cover herself even with her hands, afraid of what he would do next, this unpredictable giant she had married.

  "So 'twas no dream," he said.

  Her eyes moved warily up to meet his, which were darkened now to indigo. He seemed surprised by whatever he had discovered, and there was some other emotion there she was not quite sure of.

  "Is that good—or bad?"

  Ranulf only grunted in response. She wanted com­pliments after all she had put him through? She had best not hold her breath waiting. But Christ's toes, he was glad it had not been a dream he had carried in his mind these past few days.

  He remembered clearly now her standing in the center of his bed in her short linen shift, looking like a little Valkyrie about to do battle with him. He had been fired with lust again, just as he had been earlier that day when he had seen her astride that horse. But her body stripped bare! Who would have thought the woman hid such a perfect form beneath her clothing? She might be small of stature, but no limb was too long or short, every part of her shaped just right.

  He wanted to just stand there and look at her. He wanted to plunge right into her. It was vexing that he could not do both at once, but at least he knew he could not. Last time he was not sure of anything, even doubting that there had been a last time. This time his lust was no less rampant, but he had control of it—he hoped he had control of it. Christ's toes, would he always find himself at a disadvantage with this lady?

  One knee came down on the bed, then the other. This time he heard her gasp and he met her eyes again, seeing what he had missed before.

  "You are afraid?" he asked doubtfully.

  Her nod surprised him, especially when he clearly recalled her telling him the morning after with heavy sarcasm, "Do I look dead?" when he had stupidly asked if he had killed her.

  He began again. "Surely you know—"

  "I know."

  "Then what do you fear? Think you I am different from any other man?"

  She made a choking sound that produced a quick frown from him. But then he looked down at himself and conceded grudgingly, "Aye, mayhap a little dif­ferent." The sound turned to strangling, and brought his brows together more sharply. "You do not have to belabor the point. And you have withstood my size once without dying, as you were so quick to tell me. So what do you fear?"

  "I—I suppose 'tis the unknown, of—of not know­ing why you were so impatient to have us alone here."

  He stared at her incredulously. "Not knowing . . . lady, why else would I send you to bed?"

  "But your impatience—"

  "What do you expect when the one woman who now belongs in my bed keeps herself from it? Ab­stinence I can deal with as well as any man if needs be, but forced abstinence does not suit my nature. Better you know it now. I do not like being denied something I want."

  And then he frowned again, realizing how cleverly she had got him to admit to wanting her, getting her compliment after all, when all he really felt was mo­mentary lust. It was only lust, was it not? Certainly. Any woman would do to satisfy this craving, even though she had caused it. Then why had he forced her to leave the festivities below, when he could have slipped away for a few moments with any likely wench and not have been missed in such a crowd?

  He was startled from his thoughts by her fingertips on hi
s brow. "Why do you do that?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "Frown so often, for no apparent reason. Do you know I have never seen you smile?"

  "You want smiles, lady, you should have married Walter," he replied sourly.

  "Aye, he does have a certain merry charm, that one—but I married you."

  "So you did, but why did you? And I want the truth this time, lady, for 'twas not a matter of me or Rothwell being your only choices. You had ample op­portunity to put me aside since you returned here."

  "But you heard what I told my vassals. That was the truth, Ranulf. I felt you were the better choice for Clydon."

  "And yourself?"

  "Clydon comes first."

  It had taken her a moment to answer, and the anr swer was most unsatisfactory. But he supposed he had better not hold his breath either, waiting for compli­ments from her. She had never in any way given him reason to think she wanted him for herself. She was the first woman he had ever met who did not look at him with at least some interest, sexual or not. And he had married her, a woman who showed fear when she should not, boldness when she should be afeard, a woman who would rather avoid him, especially his bed, when other women fought to get into it. Well, she was in it now, and whether she liked it or not, he would have her.

  "Are you still afraid?" he asked tersely.

  "Nay."

  "Good, because you have put me off long enough with this silliness."

  "I do not think 'twas—"