The Lady Series, Two Books for the Price of One

by Denise Domning

  “Mistress Atwater!” Peg's voice thundered in the chamber. “You overstep yourself.”

  “Nay Peg,” Belle said, holding out a hand to stop her maid. “It's about time she lanced what festers in her. Mayhap once she's purged it she'll regain her good humor.”

  Belle looked at the governess. “I took nothing from you, Brigit because there was nothing for me to take. Sir Edward told me he couldn’t ask you to wed him.”

  “You lie!” Brigit's childish shout echoed around them. Tears filled her dark eyes then trickled down her cheeks. “You're cruel. Each night you keep me so far from him at the table that we cannot share so much as a single word lest we shout it.”

  “Brigit, love,” Belle said with a shake of her head, “if I intended to keep you from Sir Edward, I’d have command you to dine in your chambers. Moreover, there's nothing I can do to keep the knight from speaking to you should he wish to do so. That he doesn’t can only mean he chooses not to engage you in private conversation.”

  As she heard the truth Brigit's face twisted in pain. “I don’t believe you! You’ve said something to turn him from me because you’re angry over being forced into wedding the squire. Because you're not happy, you can’t bear for anyone else to be either. You want to ruin my life! Well, I won’t let you. I know what I need to do to win him back. I’ll have him, do you hear?”

  Sobbing, she turned and ran through the adjoining door to the nursery. As it slammed after her Lucy whimpered and leaned into Belle's skirts. Belle pulled her daughter close, feeling the weight of her own sin settle upon her shoulders. A good mistress would have found a way to stop Brigit's infatuation the moment it began. Because Belle wasn’t clever enough to know how to do that her wee family had lost the peace and happiness they’d once enjoyed.

  “Huh, what sort of gratitude is this for the home and employ you’ve given her?” Peg's voice was harsh, her arms tightly crossed over her bodice. “This is your reward for your leniency, my lady. I’d have had her over my knee months ago.”

  “But you're not me,” Belle replied. “And you know very well she doesn’t mean what she says. Give her time. Once the wedding is over and Sir Edward departs she'll come to her senses. I hope,” she finished with a sigh then looked at the closed nursery door. “Perhaps she shouldn’t attend the ceremony?”

  Peg gave a huff. “Only perhaps?”

  This teased a breath of a laugh from Belle. “As you will. We'll leave her here.”

  There was a tap on the door. Peg swept across the room to answer it. It was Tom.

  “It's time,” he said. “Sir Edward awaits your lady in the hall to lead her to the church.”

  By rights it should have been two unmarried men who led Belle to her wedding, but there were only two unwed men of rank at Graceton, Sir Edward and Jamie. Since Jamie had to serve as the squire’s proxy, that left only the knight to do the deed; there were no appropriate married men to lead her home.

  Against such a dearth the wedding party made do with but one tradition: music to make Belle’s way to the church merry.

  Unfortunately, simple ownership of an instrument was no guarantee of talent, at least not in this village. It was raucous bleats and piercing squeals that followed Belle and Sir Edward as they exited the castle through the postern gate and crossed the footbridge. The cacophony echoed against Graceton's tall river wall as they made their way down the water's edge toward the church.

  A laughing Lucy let the wind blow her ahead of them, her hands pressing her cloak hood to her ears to stop the noise. Not allowed such a remedy Belle gritted her teeth and glanced up at Sir Edward. Despite the concealment of his cloak, she found the same pain Brigit knew etched on his handsome features. Against that she doubted he even heard the noise.

  As they neared the village church Belle shook her head. What had once been a tidy little chapel beneath its square Norman tower had been expanded with no attempt to ease the transition from ancient walls built of raw flint nodules, some halved to reveal their dark hearts, to smooth blocks of gray stone. Just as with the ornate hall this had been another selfish expenditure, for the enlargement was to make room for the last Lord Graceton's tomb.

  Belle stepped inside the door. Her husband’s grandsire had filled the rear of the church with his final resting place. Pillars of marble rose from the tomb’s four corners to support a stone canopy, the lord lying in effigy atop the crypt’s lid, his final repose peaceful. The last Lord Graceton had been a brawny man with a big nose, full beard and a pinched brow. Kneeling around the base of his tomb in poses of eternal adoration and devotion were statues representing the wife and children who'd gone to their heavenly reward before him.

  Sawing out a happy tune, the musicians crowded into the doorway behind her and Sir Edward. As Peg and Lucy escaped up the aisle to claim their places near the altar, Belle stripped off her cloak. Sir Edward took it from her, sacrilegiously draping the garment over the head of one of the old Lord Graceton’s children then offered her his arm.

  To an off-key lilt echoing into the rafters above them Belle let him lead her up the aisle, past the many tables heavily laden with food. Everyone from castle and village gathered here this day, their number easily reaching four hundred. Perhaps it was the prospect of a rich meal and a day of celebration that drew them, but there was a smile on almost every face.

  Fearing her reaction, Belle had kept her gaze away from the altar for as long as she could bear. Now, as she came to a halt before it, she let her gaze shift to Jamie. Her heart melted. Oh, but he cut a fine figure in those golden-brown garments of his. His doublet displayed the broad line of his shoulders while his ruff clung to his strong jaw line. Beneath his brown stockings and golden garters his legs were well-made indeed.

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile as he studied her in return, admiring her, just as she admired him. Their gazes met. That hunger she'd come to know so well these past weeks appeared in his blue eyes. It was for her, only for her.

  At last, the musicians lowered their instruments and slipped away into the congregation. In the ensuing quiet those who came to witness coughed and shuffled. Sir Edward released her arm. Belle sent him a thankful glance. With a nod he stepped aside, taking his place as witness just as the queen had commanded of him.

  Stepping close to the man she loved, Belle looked up into Jamie’s face, praying he could see her affection for him in her eyes. A sudden current of warmth flowed between them.

  Tall and lank, Father William had a cowlick at the back of his head that sent a strand of graying hair skyward. His surplice needed a good darning where the moths had gotten to it and his ruff, a good dose of starch.

  He glanced from the bride to the groom's proxy then cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this company to join together Squire Nicholas Hollier, through his proxy Master James Wyatt, and Lady Arabella Purfoy in holy matrimony,” he intoned.

  A faithful woman would have listened to the words. Indeed, a faithful woman would have put herself to contemplating the meaning of the rite as she prepared to enter marriage's holy estate. Belle tried, she truly did, but she kept losing herself to the heavenly sensation of standing so near to Jamie.

  “If there is any man among you who can show just cause why this couple should not be lawfully joined together let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” The minister's voice boomed as he offered the challenge.

  Belle started. She hadn’t realized they’d gotten so far into the ceremony. Not expecting an objector from among these humble folk Belle didn’t recognize the sudden hush of the watchers. Then whispers hissed among the congregation. Beside her Jamie drew a swift sharp breath. Belle looked to see what was happening.

  Standing at the back of the church was a woman. Beneath a heavy brown cloak she wore a red bodice and brown skirt. A simple kerchief covered her dark hair. Misery pinched her thin face as she stared up the aisle.

  Wondering who she w
as, Belle glanced at Jamie. Pity darkened his gaze. It said he not only knew her, he cared about her.

  The same couldn’t be said for those who watched. Their whispers grew into a deep and threatening muttering. Men pushed their womenfolk behind them while mothers hid their children. Near Belle a pregnant woman gasped and turned her face to the side, her hand clutched protectively to the bulge of her belly. Across the congregation many a hand rose, fingers crossed to ward off evil.

  “Cecily Elwyn.” The chaplain’s voice again echoed up into the rafters overhead, his tone uncertain. “Have you anything to say against this wedding?”

  In the doorway the woman gave a quiet cry then she whirled and ran from the church. Jamie took a step as if he meant to follow her only to catch himself. There was a new tension in his shoulders when he again faced the minister.

  Belle turned with him, leaning her head close. “Who is she?” she whispered.

  Jamie bent far enough to put his mouth near her ear. “A local woman unfairly judged to be a witch.”

  “Then, as there is no objection,” the chaplain bellowed out in defiance of the interruption, “this wedding proceeds. Master Wyatt, if you will take the lady's hand.”

  Belle stifled her groan. In the next moments Jamie would speak the words that made her another man's wife. Lord save her, but this was wrong. She couldn’t marry one man when it was another she loved.

  Jamie took her hand. It was too late. But then, it’d been too late the day she’d collided with him in Richmond's garden. It was to hide her tears that she stared at their joined hands.

  “Now, repeat after me: 'I, Squire Nicholas Hollier,’” the minister instructed.

  “—take thee to be my lawfully wedded wife,” Jamie repeated.

  As he spoke Jamie's finger traced a circle in the cup of Belle’s gloved palm. The subtle caress startled her out of her misery and she lifted her gaze to his face. His heart was in his eyes. She caught her breath. He wanted her to accept this vow as his own, even though he spoke the words in the name of another man.

  “At bed and at board,” he continued, “for fairer and fouler, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do depart according to God's ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  It was his promise to her. For as long as she lived at Graceton Castle he would see she wanted for none of a husband’s care, save in one thing.

  When Belle finished her vows Jamie breathed deeply, the corners of his mouth lifting as joy filled his gaze. Only then did Belle realize she’d forgotten to name the squire as her husband. Jamie was interpreting her fumble as her promise to be his wife. For the first time in her life Belle was grateful for her clumsiness. Even though fate denied them the chance to be man and wife in the way of most couples, she would cherish this moment as the most joyous in her life. This man, this handsome, caring man, loved and wanted her.

  “Have you the ring, Master Wyatt?” the chaplain asked.

  And so the ceremony continued; the donning of the ring followed by Belle’s introduction as Lord Graceton’s new wife. Then the minister launched into an uninspired and blessedly short sermon on how Belle should achieve marital bliss with her new husband.

  Much to her surprise scorn filled her at the churchman's instructions. Although Squire Hollier had been kind to her and especially Lucy, he'd made it clear that first night he wanted no wife. All this advice aside the best way Belle could serve her new husband was to make no attempt to serve him at all.

  With the sermon's ending it was time for the sharing of the cup. The chaplain started back to the tables in the nave. Jamie offered Belle his arm. When she’d tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, he pulled his arm close to his side, forcing her to step nearer to him.

  It was the sort of game courting couples played, one in which Belle had never before participated. Now she stifled a giggle and clung close to him, even daring to lean a little on his arm.

  They stopped at the forward table beside the churchman. At its center was the mazer. Carved of maple, the big wooden cup was filled with dark sweet wine. A sprig of rosemary trailed over its lip.

  Lifting his hands, the chaplain administered the blessing. “Bless, O Lord, this bread and drink, this cup, even as Thou blessed the five loaves—”

  As his benediction droned on Jamie leaned over until his mouth was nearly pressed to Belle’s ear. She shivered at his closeness. His breath was like a caress when he spoke.

  “What do you think these folk expect of our kiss, me being but a proxy?”

  It was sinful. It was wrong. Belle didn’t care. She couldn’t wait to feel his lips on hers.

  “Decorum?” she whispered in return, knowing this wasn't the answer either of them wanted to hear.

  “Pity,” he breathed then straightened.

  Raising the cup to his lips, the chaplain took his sip then handed the mazer to Jamie. He sipped and handed it to Belle. Their fingers touched. Fire flashed through her veins.

  Against that heat it was more than a dainty taste she took to steady herself. As she passed the cup to Sir Edward anticipation pulsed in her. Jamie was receiving the chaplain's kiss of blessing. Then he turned and placed his hands upon her shoulders. His warmth penetrated the fabric of her bodice, through skin and sinew until it filled her. Her knees trembled as she raised her face to his.

  His head lowered. She closed her eyes. His lips were warm and soft on hers. He tasted of the wine. She breathed in, filling her lungs with his scent as she reveled in the feel of his mouth on her.

  And then it was over. As he drew away, she wanted to cry out, to catch him back by wrapping her arms about his neck as she'd done that night in the gallery. She knew, because it had happened once before, that her kiss could leave him gasping in need.

  Only she couldn’t put her arms around his neck. It was a sin. She was married to another man.

  Pain worse than any she'd ever known tore through Belle. Her eyes filled against it. Bowing her head, she stared at the ridiculous ribbons that covered her skirt, promises of love for a man who would never love her. She wanted to tear every one of them off and run screaming back to her chambers.

  However accidentally, she'd given her vow to Jamie, and taken his unspoken one from him. He was her husband and the need to be with her husband before God and all the world was going to eat her alive.

  A gust of wind hit the top of Graceton Hall's roof. It blasted past Cecily where she stood between two merlons. Down it went into the valley below to scour Nick's lands, ripping drying leaves from their branches. Against the darkening sky, the tossing trees seemed to reach out after those bits of foliage like mothers pleading for the return of their stolen children.

  Or wives, their husbands.

  Tears stung at Cecily's eyes. Heaven's rage spent, its breath died. In its wake the sounds of raucous laughter and merry music drifted up from the hall along with the smoke from its fire.

  She shouldn’t have trusted Nick to outwit his queen. Even as she thought this, she caught it back. This wasn’t Nick's fault. If she wanted to blame anyone it would have to be her for daring to hope love might win out when she’d known it couldn’t.

  She'd been warned. Her mother had told her all those years ago that unlike the poor and landless, Nick would never control his own destiny. No matter how he might thrash and fight his fate, wanting and willing it to be otherwise, he would marry a woman of his own class.

  Today, her mother's words proved true.

  “Oh, Nick,” she cried to the valley below her, “how could you?” For the past four hours she'd stood here, seeking a strength she didn’t have. Now as the sun set and the time grew short, her heart still resisted.

  Tears started afresh. The weather had turned early this year, even earlier than last autumn. Another gust roared over the peak of the roof, the pitch of this blast higher than the last. Its breath was frigid indeed. As it struck her, she was shoved forward into the gap between the stones. Of a sudden
her feet were sliding out from beneath her.

  As the sheer drop opened up in front of her, Cecily cried out in terror. She snatched at the merlon beside her, fingers digging into solid stone. Heart pounding, she caught her footing and righted herself. It was all the warning she needed.

  Knees yet trembling, she made her careful way to the tower door. Once she’d slammed it against the elements, she leaned her back against that solid panel, panting in relief. The stairwell was dim while the promise of winter left the air within it icy. The wind whistled past the tower’s narrow windows. Save for that, her rasping breaths were the only sound.

  As calm returned Cecily dared to laugh at herself. Why hadn’t she simply let loose and fallen? It would have been a much easier and far less painful solution to her problem.

  Her lips took a harsh twist. What a coward she was becoming. She’d known her path wouldn’t be easy the first time she'd come to Nick's bed. Ten years after the fact was no time to be bemoaning that choice. It was finally time to do what she’d always known she must.

  As his position demanded Ned danced in the ring beside the new lady Hollier, a smile plastered on his face. Aye, but behind it he was weeping. Norfolk had left the court. Now, in the queen’s panic over what her duke meant next to do, Elizabeth's questions would fly. And someone desperate to save his own neck would name Sir Edward Mallory a traitor.

  'Round and 'round Ned's thoughts went, just as he and the dancers circled the hearth. And just like the dance he always came back to the same place. His career at court was finished. So be it. The price for saving himself had always been too high.

  Once more, as he turned with the dance, Ned caught a glimpse of the screens that guarded the hall's door. Dick stood there.

  He blinked. The servant held Ned’s cloak in his hands as if he expected his master to be leaving. There was starling eagerness to the man’s expression. It was puzzle enough to make Ned step out of the ring, offering the new Lady Hollier an abrupt apology. Snaking through the crowd of shouting laughing servants, he came to a stop before the man.