Love Above All

by Speer, Flora

  “So now we have only to await the arrival of our guests,” Quentin said to Fionna, who was seated next to him.

  “Guests?” she repeated. “Who?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.” Quentin leaned a little closer to her and whispered, “It’s a surprise.”

  “I never dreamed you would prove to be a tease,” Fionna said. She was trying to appear annoyed by the need for a delay, but she feared her attempt was failing. She was too happy to be irritated and she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Considering how you tease me each time you look at me,” Quentin said, his grey gaze resting on her lips, “or how every word you speak and every movment you make torments me, I believe you are owed this brief teasing. You will just have to be patient. And so, unfortunately, will I. But it can’t be helped and I do believe you will be pleased in the end.”

  “Royce, do you know who these mysterious guests are?” Fionna asked her host.

  “I invited some old friends,” Royce said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “How could I possibly object to anyone you choose to invite to your own castle?” Fionna asked. “I just hope it isn’t the king and queen.”

  At that, Royce burst into good-natured laughter, but he refused to reveal the identity of the guests.

  “Wait and see,” was all he said.

  Fionna’s waiting didn’t last long, though it seemed very long to her. Quentin was carefully keeping his distance from her, accepting the restrictions Janet had placed on them. Whenever they were both in the chapel or the great hall at the same time, Quentin’s gaze always rested on Fionna, and the look in his eyes assured her that he was finding the waiting every bit as tedious as she was.

  The only occasions when they were close together came when they sat side by side at the high table, facing Royce’s entire household. Still, Quentin managed to let his fingers touch hers as he served her meat or pastry from the platters offered by the servants. A few times his knee or his thigh brushed against Fionna’s leg under the table.

  And always, at the end of each meal, at midday and in the evening, Quentin took her hand to help her rise from her place at the table and to steady her when she stepped off the dais. Then he would lift her hand to press his lips upon her fingers. The look in his eyes and the warmth of his mouth on her hand left Fionna trembling every time. Quentin had a way of looking at her as if he saw into her heart and soul, as if he knew how she longed to be alone with him.

  At first Fionna thought she’d not be able to bear the waiting, especially since she had no idea how long it would last. She ached for the delight of Quentin’s arms enfolding her, for the hot passion of his intimate embrace. If her erotic imaginings about him made her a wanton, she didn’t care. Never in her entire life had she allowed her thoughts to dwell in such a way on any other man. Quentin was the first, and he was the only man she would ever want.

  Gradually, she began to comprehend that he was deliberately, skillfully, inciting her desire. His heated glances and his quiet words constantly drew her to thoughts of their bridal night, until Fionna spent the slowly passing hours in a trembling daze.

  Meanwhile, Janet and Catherine were deeply involved in preparations for the wedding feast which, from the hints Janet let drop, was going to feature a remarkable example of the pastry cook’s art. Fionna wasn’t sure what was planned; she couldn’t get a serious word out of Janet about the menu, and Catherine was equally tight-lipped.

  Nor would either young woman answer her questions as to what she was going to wear for a wedding gown. Whenever she tried to press the issue Quentin appeared to distract her. Wrapped in a haze of sensual longing as she was, Fionna couldn’t bring herself to persist when Catherine promised her that all would be well.

  Three days after Quentin and Royce returned, a small party composed of a noble couple and a few men-at-arms rode through the gates of Wortham Castle.

  “Are these the mysterious guests?” Fionna asked Quentin when word of the arrival reached the great hall.

  “Wait and see,” he responded, his eyes sparkling with laughter.

  “If either you or Royce use those words to me one more time,” Fionna warned, “I swear, I will scream the castle walls down!”

  “There’s no need for screaming,” Royce told her, laying a hand on her shoulder to turn her toward the entry arch. “Here they are.”

  Lord Walter, the constable of Carlisle Castle, and Lady Agnes walked into the great hall.

  “You are the surprise!” Fionna exclaimed in delight. Rushing forward she embraced Lady Agnes. “How glad I am to see you again.”

  “I thought of you so often after you left Carlisle,” Lady Agnes said. “Walter and I were at St. Albans for the Christmas court when Quentin and Royce arrived. We heard all of your news from them, and then Royce invited us to stop at Wortham on our way back to Carlisle, so we might attend your wedding.

  “Royce’s wife and I were dear friends,” Lady Agnes continued, “and I’ve known Catherine since she was a baby. I am so pleased that you are marrying Quentin. He deserves some happiness.”

  “I have found my life’s happiness with Fionna,” Quentin said. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Let us now set the wedding date,” Royce suggested. “Will tomorrow morning be agreeable?”

  “Agreeable,” Quentin responded with a laugh, “but not nearly soon enough.”

  Fionna’s hands flew to her cheeks to cover her blush, though she laughed, too, when Quentin winked at her.

  The lady whom Catherine called Aunt Agnes was soon swept up in last-minute wedding preparations. She had brought with her a chest full of bridal gifts, most of them personal gifts for Fionna, though there was a silver basin with matching ewer for Quentin’s great hall.

  “Alney Castle is well appointed,” Agnes said to Fionna, “so you won’t need household goods. But I suspect you still don’t have many clothes. Catherine is shorter than you, so I know her gowns cannot fit you well. That’s why I brought this, as my personal wedding gift to you.” She unfolded a pale blue silk gown.

  “How lovely!” Fionna cried. Then she noticed the secret look that passed between Catherine and Agnes.

  “You knew!” she accused Catherine, who began to laugh.

  “Why do you think I put you off every time you mentioned your wedding gown?” Catherine asked. “Father told me about Aunt Agnes’ plans on the night he returned.”

  “We did keep the secret,” Janet remarked, looking smug. “You never guessed, did you, Fionna?”

  “What? You knew about it, too?” Fionna exclaimed.

  “Do you think I can’t keep quiet in a good cause?” Janet asked.

  “I think I have the best sister, and two of the dearest friends, that any woman could possibly want,” Fionna responded, gulping back happy tears. “And here I was beginning to fear I’d have to wear the green silk gown yet again. It is a pretty dress, Agnes, but it is very well worn!”

  Lady Agnes’ many gifts filled the wooden chest with fine linen shifts, stockings, shoes, and shawls, as well as several gowns of silk or wool. Fionna’s blue silk wedding dress was simply made, with a wide, round neckline and long sleeves that flared as they reached her wrists. Under her gown Fionna wore a linen shift with long, tight sleeves and delicate blue and white embroidery at the wrists, the embroidery placed so it would show beneath the edge of the dress sleeves. A sash of soft, gilded leather wrapped about her waist, and she wore matching gilded leather shoes.

  No flowers were available in mid winter, but Catherine snipped a few sprigs of rosemary from a pot of the herb that the cook kept growing year-round in the kitchen. Janet and Agnes devised a wreath of braided ribbons in shades of blue and green, with the rosemary tucked into the ribbons, for Fionna to wear on her loosely flowing hair.

  Janet wore the silk gown that one of Queen Sybilla’s attendants had given her in Edinburgh. Janet and Catherine were Fionna’s attendants, with Royce acting as her father. Lord Walter and Sir William were Quentin’s
witnesses.

  The marriage ceremony was simple and private. In early morning Fionna and Quentin presented themselves at the door of the chapel, with their attendants and Lady Agnes, who carried a dainty square of silk with which to wipe her eyes, because she was already weeping softly.

  Just outside the chapel door Royce’s secretary had set up a small table, with ink bottle, quills, a coil of sealing wax, and a lighted candle to melt the wax. Standing next to the table Father Aymon, who was Royce’s chaplain, read aloud the terms of the marriage contract. Fionna’s dowry, the small property granted to her by King Henry, passed to Quentin, to be administered by him until their second child inherited it. Having once been without a dowry, Fionna had insisted that any daughter of hers must have the right to inherit that property, and Quentin had allowed Father Aymon to make the alteration to the original contract brought from St. Albans.

  As soon as the contract was signed or sealed by all of the witnesses, Father Aymon led them into the chapel, where he conducted a Mass to bless the marriage.

  Then it was time for the public part of the festivities, the banquet that Catherine and Janet had organized. Royce had declared a holiday for the folk of Wortham, both castle and village, and had ordered roast beef, ale, and a good supply of pastries to be sent to the village square for everyone there to enjoy.

  In the great hall of the castle the meal lasted all day, the many courses interspersed with entertainments. At the first sign of warmer weather minstrels had appeared at the gates of Wortham, and Catherine had welcomed them, bidding them stay for the wedding. Thus, lord and lady, minstrel, juggler and knight, scullery maid and stable boy, all celebrated together.

  A roasted side of beef, a haunch of venison, pies of minced meats combined with spices, vegetable stews, and fine white bread for all began the meal. Next came small game birds, stuffed and roasted on spits, custards flavored with almonds, cakes made with honey, dried fruits, and nuts. Wine and ale flowed freely.

  Then, finally, the pastry cook supervised the presentation of his triumph, which was rolled into the hall on a linen-covered cart. Everyone began to applaud. Some of the smaller boys leapt onto benches, and a few climbed onto tabletops, to see the amazing creation.

  A large silver tray rested atop the cart and there on the tray sat a pastry replica of a castle, complete with towers, battlements, an oversized double main gate made of dark gingerbread, and a drawbridge that was lowered over a green jelly moat. Behind the pastry outer wall the tower keep rose in golden, baked splendor, pierced here and there with tiny arrow-slits. The gingerbread door to the tower was closed.

  The pastry cook bowed, accepting the cheers and applause as his just due for the work he had done. His round cheeks were flushed pink with the compliments he was receiving.

  “By all the saints, it’s Alney Castle!” Quentin exclaimed. “Master Cook, how did you create this marvel when you have never seen the place?”

  “My lord Royce described Alney Castle to me,” the cook answered. “I drew a picture from his description. Then he corrected the picture until I had it right, and I used the sketch to make the miniature castle.”

  “It’s amazingly like the real castle,” Quentin said.

  “Thank you, my lord.” The cook beamed his happiness.

  “Now, show everyone what you’ve hidden inside the keep,” Catherine instructed the cook.

  “My lady, I think Lord Quentin and his bride ought to have the honor of opening the keep,” the cook said.

  Quentin rose from the table, laughing, and held out his hand to Fionna. She went with him to the cart that rested just in front of the dais. The cook handed Quentin a thin, pointed knife.

  “Shall we do this together, my love?” Quentin held the handle of the knife toward Fionna. She took it and he put his hand over hers. Working carefully, they used the knife to pry open the gingerbread door of the little keep. A deluge followed, as tiny, round cakes iced in red, blue, or yellow tumbled through the open door and into the miniature bailey.

  “These,” explained the cook, “are the gifts of love and joy that await Lord Quentin and Lady Fionna at Alney.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Fionna said. “Thank you so much, Master Cook.”

  “Don’t praise him too highly,” Royce commanded her, “or he’ll expect to go with you to Alney, and I don’t want to part with him.”

  “I won’t tempt him away from you,” Fionna promised, “so long as you invite Quentin and me to Wortham often, so we can enjoy his other masterpieces.”

  The pastry cook received a more tangible reward than praise, for Quentin spoke to one of his squires, who presented the man with a purse well filled with coins as he left the hall.

  The little, decorated cakes were gingerbread, which Fionna and Janet had never before tasted. Janet ate three of the cakes, sighing with pleasure each time she took a bite. Fionna nibbled at a single cake. The taste was delicious, but she was too nervous to eat much.

  It shouldn’t be so; she and Quentin had made love several times, and she knew what to expect. Or did she? Her bridal night was not going to be an hour or two in a tent or a leaky hut, time stolen during a hurried and frightening journey. Instead of a narrow cot, she and Quentin would be sharing the bed in which she had slept for weeks.

  She was Quentin’s wife now, and he was going to expect her to obey him, to bear his children, to manage Alney Castle. That last requirement was going to be very different from acting as chatelaine of Dungalash, with its wooden tower, smokey great hall, and the crowded loft where all the unmarried women slept together.

  Oh, why? Fionna asked herself in a silent wail, why hadn’t she paid more attention to what Catherine did each day? Why hadn’t she seized the opportunity to learn as much as she could about the domestic details of a large castle?

  “Fionna?” Quentin said, laying his hand over hers so unexpectedly that Fionna jumped. “You look terrified. Surely, you aren’t afraid of me?”

  “I was thinking of all the things you will expect of me now,” she whispered.

  “And that frightens you?”

  “I am not afraid!” she cried, so loudly that Royce and Lord Walter paused in their conversation to look at her.

  “You sound just like Janet when she’s afraid,” Quentin said, smiling slightly.

  “I have never been afraid in my life!” Janet declared from behind Quentin’s chair. She laid a hand on the chair back and frowned at him.

  “Janet, you are just in time,” Quentin said. “Will you and Catherine and Agnes be good enough to escort my wife to her chamber and prepare her for bed? I will join you shortly,” he said to Fionna. When she didn’t respond at once, he leaned over to kiss her on the mouth.

  Fionna rose, though she wasn’t sure whether or not her legs would support her. Then Janet and Catherine each put an arm around her waist and she leaned against them. Lady Agnes was already leading the way toward the stairs, along with a maidservant she had commandeered. Cheers, laughter, and a few bawdy jokes followed their progress to the upper level of the keep.

  The bridal chamber was warm, with charcoal glowing in the brazier. Lady Agnes set the maid to work lighting candles, while she personally turned down the bedcovers. There were more candles than usual, for the bedding of the bridal pair was an important part of the wedding ceremonies. So was the ritual undressing and bathing of the bride, to prepare her for her new husband’s first embrace.

  Fionna submitted quietly to what the others were doing. She stood in the tub while Catherine held her hair out of the way and Lady Agnes poured warm, scented water over her. She had bathed more thoroughly and washed her hair in early morning, but the great hall was over heated with so many people in it, and the quick sluicing was refreshing.

  Fionna noticed Janet watching everything the women were doing with great interest, as if she was making note of Norman customs in anticipation of her own wedding to Cadwallon. Not once did Janet criticize or complain. She blushed, she smiled, she looked happy, and her co
ntentment in her new life was a comfort to Fionna.

  The ladies dried Fionna, then tucked her naked into bed a bare instant before a loud knock sounded at the door. After a glance at Fionna to be certain she was covered by the sheet, Lady Agnes opened the door to admit the men.

  Quentin was completely naked. Royce, Lord Walter, and Quentin’s two squires, all pushed him through the doorway. They were followed by Sir William and a few of Royce’s men-at-arms who had ridden to Scotland with them. To Fionna’s surprise, Father Aymon was present, also.

  “Into bed with you, lad!” Lord Walter instructed Quentin. He slung an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Ah, Agnes, do you recall our bridal night?”

  “Indeed, I do,” Lady Agnes responded, laughing. “You were so nervous you drank too much at the feast, and you fell asleep before our bedchamber door was closed!”

  This retort brought loud laughter from the other men, while Lord Walter looked distinctly chagrined.

  “What I also remember,” Lady Agnes continued softly, looking into her husband’s eyes, “is sunrise the next morning, when you awakened remarkably clearheaded. I recall how grateful I was that you allowed your weary and very nervous bride a few hours of sleep before you claimed her. I have always wondered if you were only pretending to be drunk.”

  “If I were not drunk,” Lord Walter murmured, “I never could have waited. But what a beautiful sunrise that was. What a happy, happy day. All the days since then have been happy.”

  The long-married pair gazed raptly at each other until Royce cleared his throat.

  “Ah, yes,” said Lord Walter. “Back to duty. Quentin, we are all your witnesses here, so climb into that bed and touch your lady’s thigh with yours. Then we can leave you alone. And from what I see of you, you’ll not be sleeping much this night!”

  Looking not the least bit embarrassed by his friend’s good humored chaffing, Quentin got into bed and under the sheet, sitting next to Fionna. Then, very decorously, he pulled the sheet aside to show everyone in the room how his leg lay firmly against Fionna’s.