PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses

by Margaret Brazear

  She felt an ache in her throat as she thought of the things her bridegroom had provided, things that should have been provided by her father and she felt grateful all over again. She could hardly wait to get to the church, to take her vows before God and put her life of poverty and worry behind her. She could hardly wait to restore her father's pride and return him to his rightful place in the world, but most of all she could hardly wait to get to know this man who would take her as his bride. Merciless and fearsome he may be, but there was also a side to him that was extremely generous and kind to be providing all these things, and that was the man she wanted to know.

  There came a gentle knock at the door and Lord Sutton opened it and stepped through. He wore a smile but she could see behind it, see that he was holding on to an ache of his own.

  "You are beautiful," he whispered. "You look just like your dear mother on our wedding day, except she wore the Sutton necklace which I no longer possess. You are the only possession I have left to give away, and I wish more than anything I could give you to a worthier man."

  "What on earth do you mean?" She protested. "Lord Christopher is a worthy man. He will make me a fine husband and you will not have to worry any more."

  She held out her hand to him and he kissed it, then held on to it.

  "In Pagan times, the tribe would choose their most beautiful virgin as a sacrifice to appease their evil god. I feel that to be exactly what I am doing, sacrificing my most beautiful maiden to the evil god who is Lord Christopher." He paused and swallowed to keep his lips from creasing up. "I am so sorry, Felice. I wanted to give you so much but you have been forced to break your betrothal to the Viscount and marry this fearsome stranger to keep me from the punishment I am owed."

  "Father," she said, taking his arm. "I cannot tell what the future will hold for me now, but if there is one thing about this arrangement for which I am grateful, it is that I will no longer be marrying Viscount Lindsay."

  Earl Sutton looked in surprise at his daughter.

  "I thought you were fond of him," he commented.

  "So did I," she answered, "until last night, when he showed his true colours. Do not fret about me, Father. I am sure I will be perfectly content with my new husband and my new home." She paused thoughtfully for a moment before going on: "I can only hope he is perfectly content with his new wife."

  "If he is anything of a man, he will love you."

  She held tighter to his arm and they descended the stairs to the carriage that awaited, the carriage sent by Lord Christopher. Her father still kept a carriage, but it was old and unsafe, the paint peeling and the wood rotten, certainly not fit to carry a noblewoman to her own wedding.

  As her father opened the door, she saw on the seat a beautiful bouquet of white roses, wrapped up in cloth of gold to match her gown. Hesitantly, she picked it up, almost afraid it was an illusion which would vanish on first contact. She read the note from her bridegroom. "Lovely though these flowers may be, they cannot overshadow the beauty of my bride."

  She gasped and buried her face in the flowers. Her eyes met her father's to see that he had turned his head away, once more ashamed that he was not able to provide them, that it had been left to this stranger who was about to own them both.

  "You must have told him," she said softly. "He could not have known about the roses unless you told him."

  He looked shamefaced again.

  "He asked me if you had a particular jewel you preferred. I thought you would prefer roses," he said. "Was I right?"

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  "Of course you were, Father. Thank you."

  "Thank Lord Christopher," he replied. "I did not think he believed me."

  Felice spent the short journey to the village church with a little smile on her lips as she buried her face in the sweet and half forgotten scent of the roses. A beautiful wedding gown, a carriage, servants to help her and now this final gesture of the bouquet convinced her that Lord Christopher’s reputation had not been earned by him.

  She would learn in time, that she was merely seeing another side to him, one he rarely showed to anyone.

  ***

  There were a lot of people inside the church, all standing and watching her arrive, watching her father lead her to the altar to be given to this handsome man who was to be her husband. She wondered if any or all of them knew just why she was marrying him, whether they knew of her father's shame and the thought made her flush with embarrassment.

  The guests she passed on her way to meet with her bridegroom were all strangers to her, with the exception of some old friends of her father and Lord and Lady Eversley, but she could not help but notice how many of them looked at her with sympathy in their eyes. She shook the idea away; look what he had already done for them. Everyone was wrong about him, of that she was certain.

  She saw him watching her and the look of admiration in his eyes was not lost on her. He was so tall, Felice barely came up to his chest, and his shoulders were wide and powerful. He was resplendent in embroidered gold velvet, with a matching ermine lined hat covering his fair hair and a neatly trimmed blonde beard.

  Her heart fluttered a little as reality presented itself at last. She seemed to have been in a little trance since Lord Christopher made his offer, not really believing it would come to pass. But here she was and as she drew close to him and her eyes met his, he gave her a smile that warmed her heart.

  "Thank you for the roses, My Lord," she whispered as the priest appeared before them. He gave a little bow of his head in acknowledgement, then the ceremony proceeded. She understood no Latin, and neither did anyone else in the church, yet she knew she was married at the end just the same.

  She took his arm and allowed him to lead her slowly through the churchyard to the lychgate, to his waiting carriage. There were many people following them, wedding guests as well as villagers come to watch, and Felice felt conspicuous as she walked among them. Everybody was laughing and smiling, except for one lone woman who stood outside the churchyard and looked down at the wedding party from a hill a few feet away. She wore rough linen and a peasant's cap covered her hair, allowing only a few blonde tendrils to escape. She was not smiling; she looked angry, if anything, and Felice recalled Thomas' tale of a peasant family.

  Felice turned her eyes away from the woman and glanced surreptitiously at the edge of the churchyard where the poor had their final resting places. There she saw a pile of earth covered with grass and a wooden cross bearing only the words Sonia and her child.

  She knew it was true, and she knew the reason, but part of her had hoped it was merely a rumour. Her new husband, her very wealthy and important new husband, had buried his first wife in a pauper's grave with no respect and no remorse.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Man in the Pillory

  The festivities went on in the castle for the rest of the afternoon and evening and they would continue until the end of the week. Felice did not know most of the guests, they were nearly all invited by Lord Christopher, and considering his lack of friends, she wondered why.

  "They are all important, titled people," he told her. "I want them all to know that Lord Sutton is now in possession of his rightful position and I also want them to know that he has not bartered his only daughter to achieve it. Your lovely smile will tell them that."

  She held on tighter to his arm and moved closer to him as she gave him that lovely smile. Not content with merely rescuing her father and his reputation, he was also going out of his way to be sure everybody knew his daughter was happy with the arrangement. Since her first glimpse of that bouquet of roses on the carriage seat, she had begun to doubt the rumours about him, but at the same time she knew that these people had all accepted his invitation because they dared not refuse; not one of them wanted to offend Lord Christopher.

  Even here, at his own wedding, he hardly spoke to anyone, neither did he smile. He led her in one dance, enough to start the proceedings, then retur
ned to sit.

  “I hate to dance,” he told her. “But I will make the sacrifice if you wish.”

  She was a little afraid to answer. This man was treating her kindly but rumours about him obscured the view she would have liked to see.

  “Whatever you wish, My Lord,” she answered.

  “No, not what I wish. This is your wedding day as well, My Lady.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently and a little half smile appeared on his lips, as though forced there against its will. “I can see you want to dance,” he went on. “So we will dance.”

  He was a fine dancer, despite his claim that he hated it, and they danced together until the minstrels stopped playing.

  Returning to the table, she glanced at the windows to see that darkness had fallen, the only light coming from the moon. Candles had been lit and the minstrels were at rest. Felice was tired now; it had been a very long time since she had danced so much.

  Soon would be time to retire to the marriage bed and the thought was frightening. She knew nothing, having no mother to advise her, and this man would be an ominous presence in her bedchamber.

  As she sat at the table with her father on one side, her new husband on the other, he took her hand and stood up, lifting her to her feet, and led her away, anxious to be alone with his new wife. Curious glances followed them from the hall and the guests’ expressions were an assortment of sympathy and lasciviousness, but they did not follow, which Felice expected them to do.

  Maids came to take her to her bed, but she stopped in the open doorway and smiled at the vases of roses all around the chamber, making it smell sweet and fresh. At this time of year, they must have cost a fortune and she found herself worrying about the extravagance before she remembered that she no longer had to care about such things.

  She was undressed down to her shift then took one of the roses as she was put into bed. Gently she rubbed the fragrant petals against the skin of her neck and shoulders.

  After the maids had left Lord Christopher came in, followed by some rowdy guests, whom he promptly ushered out, and a priest whom he allowed to bless the bed with holy water. Lord Christopher followed him to the door and closed and locked it after him, then turned back to his new bride and gave her a warm, welcoming smile, a smile she was not expecting to see but which warmed her heart.

  Her gaze followed him as he approached and she had to keep reminding herself that this man was her husband, that he had a right to be here, that he had a right to do whatever he wanted with her. Was he as cruel as people said? Or was that an empty rumour, perhaps one he had put about himself to enhance his reputation? But she remembered the wooden cross in the peasant’s graveyard and knew she was clinging to straws.

  Her heart began to beat wildly as he approached the bed and she wondered if he realised how ignorant she was, how afraid of what was to come. Her eyes were round and frightened; he sat on the bed beside her and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers gently.

  "Do not be afraid," he said soothingly.

  He wore nothing but a velvet mantle, which he slipped off to display broad shoulders and a firm, muscular chest and arms. He climbed into the bed beside her while she kept her eyes on his face, not wanting to see more.

  They had spoken a little during the wedding feast, but it was too crowded and noisy to say very much. This chamber was in the new house within the castle grounds, a house Lord Christopher had recently had built to serve as more of a home than a fortress. It was a large manor house, attached to the old castle by a corridor and from here they could still hear music and laughter faintly from the other side of the old building as the wedding guests continued to enjoy the festivities, to drink his wine and mead and eat his food.

  Now she lie in the unfamiliar bed with its soft, feather mattress and studied the flowers stitched into the canopy above her head, nervously feeling the nearness of his bare flesh, the heat generating from his body. She glanced quickly at him and was relieved to see a gentle smile as he leaned up on his elbow and gazed down at her.

  "Forgive me, My Lord," she said shakily, her face beginning to burn. "I have no idea what you expect of me. I trust I do not disappoint you."

  He put his arm around her and drew her to him, and now his fingers found the ribbon ties of her shift and unfastened the bow that held it in place. He slipped the silk from her shoulders then held her close to him, so that now his flesh was actually touching hers, and she blushed again when she felt her breast brushing against his as he kissed her. She had in the past shared a kiss or two with Thomas; they were betrothed after all, but nothing had prepared her for this warm and passionate kiss that went on so long, she thought she might melt, become absorbed into him and lose her own identity entirely. At last he released her and held her head gently against his chest, where she could feel the soft beating of his heart and wondered if he could also feel hers. If he could, he must have known how nervous she was, for it was racing so fast she could scarcely breathe.

  With her face against his flesh, she felt an urge to kiss that chest, but she fought against it. What would he think of her if she made such a move?

  "I would have been disappointed if you had known what to expect," he said gently. "I make few demands on my bride, but I do demand that I am the first."

  "You are, My Lord," she answered. "You have my word on that."

  She imagined she would have to let him do to her what he wanted, simply lie still for him, let him into her most private places. She had no mother to advise her and her father would never have ventured to talk about such things, so she had no way of knowing any different. What she did not expect was that she would welcome him into those private places, even respond to his desire with her own.

  As he began to stroke her gently and kiss her, arousing needs she had no idea existed, she felt such heights of desire she wanted to cry out. She was embarrassed at her own lack of inhibition, and was relieved when she opened her eyes for a few seconds to see him smile happily as she began to breathe in rapid gasps, as she took him into her arms and pulled him closer, kissed his chest, his neck, his lips.

  She would never have imagined that anything could feel like this and she was quite sure she could love this man if only he gave her the chance. Afterward she closed her eyes and relived every caress, every kiss, every touch, the feel of him inside her, the pressure of his hips on hers.

  She felt the bed move and opened her eyes to see him gathering up his mantle and preparing to leave her, to retreat to his own bedchamber. She was disappointed but was not about to say so. He turned back and leaned over, kissed her lips gently, not with the passion he had displayed before.

  "Thank you," he said softly. “Thank you so much.”

  Then he was gone, leaving her feeling alone and lost, listening to the music and laughter which still came from the main castle.

  ***

  The festivities went on for almost a week and each night Lord Christopher would take her hand and lead her to her bedchamber, where he made love to her as gently and passionately as the first time while the music and laughter could be faintly heard from the other side of the castle. Each night when they were spent, he would don his cloak, lean over to kiss her and thank her, as though she was favouring him with something, instead of allowing him what was rightfully his.

  They had no time to be alone except when they retired to bed and on those occasions, talking was the very last thing on their minds. They had little chance to get to know one another, but he had so far treated her with respect and affection, holding her close to him before their guests and before her father, who still seemed a little troubled by the marriage.

  “Father,” she said as she left her husband talking to some guests and went to sit with him. “I do wish you would smile for me. Every time I see you, you are looking gloomy. You are free now. You are wealthy and respected again.”

  “But at what cost?”

  She looked at him with a puzzled frown.

  “Cost?”

/>   “Yes, my dear, cost,” Lord Sutton replied. “I see you holding his arm, trying to impress all these important people with your happiness, for my sake. What do you really feel, that is what I need to know? Has he hurt you?”

  Her eyes widened in astonishment.

  “No, father,” she replied, “and I think it unlikely that he ever would. He treats me with affection, with respect and I am very happy with him. I promise.”

  “Really? You are not just saying that to ease my conscience?”

  She laughed so loudly, her husband turned to look at her and smiled warmly.

  “Really, Father,” she assured him. “I think Lord Christopher is a good man. Perhaps the rumours about him are true, but I have seen nothing to confirm them.”

  “Do you promise me?”

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  “I promise, Father. He is a better man than Viscount Lindsay, of that I am certain.”

  What Christopher did not do was to reveal anything of himself or his feelings to her, and that was something she wanted to change. He showed her nothing but kindness and affection, both of which came as a happy surprise. She was beginning to feel tender towards him and she wanted very much to know how he felt about her.

  "Why do you always thank me, My Lord?" She asked him one night as he kissed her goodnight. "I am giving you nothing you are not entitled to. You have no reason to thank me."

  He sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers.

  "Your favours might be mine by right," he replied, "and you might feel obliged to let me have them, but you do not have to return my passion, do you? You do not have to want me. I find that enchanting, and I thank you for it."

  ***

  At the end of the week, when the wedding guests had gone and they were alone together, Felice decided she wanted to know much more of this man she had wed, wanted to know how others greeted him, wanted to know his character, not just his reputation. And she really wanted to learn how he came by that reputation.