The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series

by Claudia Dain

  "We shall have no gay farewells and wishes of Godspeed, it seems," Kendall remarked with a mischievous smile. "'Tis unlike William. What think you detains him in his bed this mom?"

  "Your head is thick, Kendall," Rowland stated calmly.

  "'Tis well it is for all the pounding you give it with your meaty hand." He chuckled.

  "Mayhap the pounding will soften it, much as with tough meat that must be pounded before releasing its juices."

  "Ah, and now we speak again of why William remains abed." Kendall smiled. "'Tis that he must pound his wife so that she will release her own sweet juice."

  Rowland's dark eyes tried to mask their shining amusement at Kendall's remark, and to help, he struck his companion a glancing blow upon his neck.

  When Kendall rose from the dirt, he was smiling still.

  "We had best be off before I am too bruised to begin."

  "Yea," Rowland agreed, "and ride not at my side or I will be holding back a temptation that I find I have a little chance of besting."

  Kendall laughed as he mounted and kicked his horse into a quick canter away from his traveling companion. They left the walls of Greneforde behind and crossed the river Brent without delay. The day was one of struggling sun, and Kendall's mood ran high; it was highly unlikely that they should encounter the king this day, and he looked forward to a day of roving freedom in woodland and meadow.

  Rowland had not much thought to spare for King Henry; his mind was trained upon finding Lambert, and his eye was upon the ground seeking tracks not made by Greneforde folk. If he were Lambert, he would not stray far from Cathryn and what she offered, so finding signs of Lambert's proximity was not unreasonable.

  * * *

  But Rowland was not Lambert and did not think with Lambert's reasoning.

  Lambert had not stayed at Greneforde upon hearing of King Henry's coronation; what purpose would that have served? Lambert had made for the king, and with the king he now spoke.

  "And so my lands were lost to me, and not through neglect or rebellion against my king," he said with emotion, facing the king and his advisers. "I then made for Greneforde, my closest neighbor, and a holding not unfamiliar to me. There I lived and ruled until that time the anarchy should end."

  "Would it not be better said that you enjoyed the hospitality of Greneforde Tower when your own had been destroyed?" one of Henry's councilors asked.

  Lambert eyed Edgar of Lisborne with a cold look before answering. "As Lady Cathryn was alone there, I assumed the role of lord, taking the part that God in His wisdom has ordained for man."

  Edgar cast his eye toward the king, not liking the way this tale was playing out. He saw that King Henry also liked it little.

  "You were welcomed willingly?" the king asked.

  "She did open the gate to me when I asked it," Lambert answered with deceptive truth.

  "How long did you reside at Greneforde?" Edgar asked suspiciously.

  Lambert did not look at Edgar as he answered; he looked at the king. But he did answer.

  "For three months I lived and acted as lord of Greneforde, making no war upon my sovereign or his will. When word came that King Stephen was no longer king of England and that King Henry took his rightful place, I hied here to explain my connection to Greneforde and ask that it be given into my hand for the good of all. For my lord, who needs men who will be loyal to his standard; for the Lady Cathryn, who needs a husband; and for myself, one who has lost his holding and has already found another bailey in good repair, joining the two lands as one, under one lord."

  Edgar thought how odd it was that Lambert placed himself last when he was certain that, in his secret thoughts, he placed himself first, no matter his words of loyalty to Henry. It was a shame that Lambert of Brent had not lingered at Greneforde; he could have then met face-to-face with Greneforde's new lord and had this conversation with him. William le Brouillard would not have had to play this hand with careful diplomacy as Henry was bound to do.

  It was a twisted tale, that much was sure, but what was false and what was true could not be deciphered at such a distance and from such a source as Lambert of Brent. That Lambert was ignorant of William's part in this situation was obvious. Such could not long remain the case.

  "There are other donjons that stand empty and that call for loyal men to arm them," Edgar stated, hoping to turn Lambert from his course.

  "And many are they which are being dismantled, having been built without the king's license, Greneforde is a lawful tower," Lambert answered.

  "You seem much attached to Greneforde Tower, given that you resided there for so brief a span of time," the king commented, his hand stroking the softness of his beard.

  Lambert made his final move—the move that would either win Greneforde for him or cause him to lose all, mayhap his life.

  "'Tis so, my lord. I am much attached to Greneforde because I am much attached to the lady who resides there and to whom Greneforde is her lawful inheritance."

  The king's brows rose in mild surprise, but he said nothing. Edgar knew that gesture did not bode well for Lambert, for Lady Cathryn had already been given to le Brouillard, but he, as well, said nothing. To what purpose when Lambert was doing so well at his own destruction?

  "Much attached," Lambert repeated, a band of sweat glistening on his brow as he faced the cold eyes of his king and the king's advisers. "My lord, I must be blunt: I have had carnal knowledge of Cathryn of Greneforde, and on that basis I would ask for her hand in marriage and that her holding be gifted to me."

  At that the king was moved, but not for Lambert. His thoughts went to William, who had taken an impure wife to his marriage bed. William had deserved better for his service. Henry's mind spun to consider other holdings that would suit his man better. It was not that he would give Greneforde to Lambert, but that he would give William something else. As to Lambert, he would not receive Greneforde as his prize, for he had nothing to bring to the marriage; by law, his portion must be equal, and Henry would not amend the law for one such as Lambert.

  "Edgar," Henry said, "I would have William le Brouillard before me when I decide the fate of Greneforde and its lady. Summon him to court."

  "Aye, my lord." Edgar bowed before he left to dispatch the messenger.

  With Edgar's departure from the room, the subject of Greneforde was closed. The king turned to other matters with other supplicants. Lambert did not miss the significance of the fact that he had not been addressed again. He stood on unstable ground in regard to his claim to Greneforde, even though he had played his game with what pieces were left him, using the swift ruthlessness of one who had nothing to lose.

  There was another course of action open to him now, and the king himself had opened it. The ownership of Greneforde would not be decided upon until William reached the king. Apparently another man had a claim to Greneforde. He could intercept this William whom the king had summoned and kill him ere he reached the king. King Henry would perchance be more disposed to gift him with a holding that was free of any other claim. He had little to dissuade him from this course; the king would plainly not give him a holding that he had given to another, but there was a chance that he would not feel so constrained if William were not around to argue the point. It was a chance, his only chance, and he would take it, not bothered by conscience. He had none.

  Chapter 15

  "Did you not hear something amiss coming from the lord's chamber last night, John?" Marie questioned anxiously.

  "Nay," he said, smiling in answer. "I heard nothing that gave me cause to worry."

  "Did you not?" She frowned. "I did not think myself dreaming, yet, if you did not—"

  "What is it that you believe you heard, Marie? Tell me, and I will seek to comfort you in what way I can."

  "'Tis that, as I lay abed with eyes closed, I thought I heard... a scream," she finished, wide-eyed.

  "Ah," he said with a smile. "You heard a scream and so you worry for our lady."

  "But if you d
id not—"

  "But I did, girl. I also heard a scream, and the sound of it was not unlike Lady Cathryn's voice."

  Marie's lovely blue eyes filled with horror as she imagined what it was that Lord William had done to wring such a cry from his wife—she who had not cried out when Lambert beat her and killed her brother.

  "Nay," John comforted, "there is no cause for alarm. He did her no injury, and this you will see when she comes down to break her fast."

  "But she has not come down," she whispered, "and 'tis past the dawning."

  "She will come down," John repeated. "All is well with her." And with William, if he was aright in his thinking as to what had transpired in the lord's bed. "And here is one who looks for you."

  Ulrich bounded into the kitchen and stopped abruptly upon seeing Marie. An enchanted light shone from his eyes as he made his way toward her. Marie pushed thoughts of Cathryn to one side and faced him with a shy smile, one she had practiced to perfection in the calm water of her washing bowl.

  "And I now have broken my long night's fast, for I can feast again on your beauty, and though I feast daily, I am never full, never sated. I fear 'twill take a thousand lifetimes to drink my fill of you, lovely Marie," Ulrich expounded with drama.

  "I fear I am a food that will never build the muscle upon your bone," she coyly answered, giving him the opportunity to deny it.

  "Nay, you are wrong," he contradicted gallantly. "You are all the food I need, yet you parcel it out so sparingly that I admit 'tis possible that I could waste away. Yet I do so willingly!" he added when she started to walk away in pretended insult.

  "I think you would have food of me that would near destroy me in the giving of it," she said, not allowing him to see her face.

  "I would not," Ulrich vowed, "for as you feed me, I would also feed you. 'Twould be a banquet we would share."

  "Yet you find it in your heart to complain as to the bounty of the gifts I have already given you."

  "'Tis only that they are the first course, and a man needs heartier food to sustain him, Marie."

  "To indulge the way you would like is to indulge in... gluttony, and such is a deadly sin," she countered, enjoying their verbal debate and the sensual undertones of it. "Would you have me fat?"

  "Marie—" he smiled engagingly—"'tis hardly possible to grow fat on the banquet of delight I speak of."

  "So men say, until the lady of their heart does indeed grow... fat."

  John watched them as they made for the door, with Ulrich in his constant position of trailing after the coyly enticing Marie. If Marie were not careful, Ulrich might well wring a scream from her.

  "And would you say the Lady Cathryn is fat?" Ulrich countered, blocking her progress as she skirted the edge of the enclosure. "She and my lord dine daily at the banquet table of love and yet are not the worse for it."

  With the mention of Cathryn, all thoughts of verbal byplay flew from her head and she turned to Ulrich with fear plainly visible in her eyes.

  "You make mention of my lady, and I confess to you that I have a fear for her well-being, Ulrich. Tell me true, has Lord William harmed her?"

  Ulrich drew back in surprise and then in indignation; Marie was in grave error to cast a slur upon William, and he was quick to tell her so.

  "William le Brouillard is the most chivalric and the most gallant of knights, whether on the continent or this rain-drenched isle. He would never harm any lady, and least of all, his wife! He is a true Christian knight, Marie. But whence comes your concern? Do not tell me that you have seen him raise even the smallest finger of his hand to Lady Cathryn, for, as charmed by you as I am and always will be, I will not believe it."

  "Nay," she admitted, "I have not seen him be anything but kind to her, yet—" she hesitated before darting into a shadowed corner—"yet I thought I did hear a scream coming from the chamber that they now share. Did you not hear it?"

  Ulrich puffed his chest out to its full capacity and wore a smile of male pride as he answered, "Yea, I may have heard something like it."

  "And she has not left the chamber though the sun is strong upon the sky. 'Tis unlike my lady," she muttered.

  "You worry needlessly, Marie. There is naught amiss."

  "So you say, but have you seen her?"

  "Nay," he admitted. "Lord William has instructed me soundly that none should breach his door when he and his lady are closeted within."

  That information did nothing to calm Marie's fears. They had just increased twofold, for why would a man secure his door when his lady lay within unless he intended to do her harm and wanted none to stay his hand?

  "I do not know your lord well, Ulrich, but that does not ease my fears," she said.

  Ulrich smiled, understanding her fear yet not able to stop himself from taking advantage of it.

  "To ease your fears, I would suggest that we find ourselves a quiet corner where I may comfort you. I promise you that thoughts and worries of Lady Cathryn will fly from your head once you place yourself in my tender care."

  On ground again both new and familiar, Marie trilled a laugh and moved off to the sunny center of the yard, enjoying the knowledge that Ulrich followed in her wake as certainly as the moon followed the sun. And so he did, wearing a smile as bright with promise as her own.

  * * *

  Cathryn awoke to the feeling of fingers running through the hair that framed her face. It was not unpleasant as an awakening. There was no confusion as to whose bed she was sharing, or where she was, or what had passed the night before: she remembered all with vivid clarity, though she had not yet opened her eyes to greet the day. And William.

  She could scarce believe that any man could call forth such ringing pleasure with his hands; nor could she believe that a woman's body could experience such depth of feeling. She had believed, and had not been discouraged in believing, that the pleasure of sexual union belonged to the man and the pain of childbirth to the woman, as her price for the fall of man in his relationship with God the Father. So wrongly she had believed. So much did she yearn to feel William's hands upon her again, to feel his touch upon her breast and his tongue flicking against...

  With a slow smile, she stretched her legs fully and her arms above her head, arching her breasts upward. She looked as languorous as a cat, though William would hardly have said so aloud. She looked like a woman well pleased, and he could not help smiling at her.

  As he was smiling down on her, his look as washed of arrogance as he could make it, she flipped over and landed upon his stomach, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  "You awoke me with your touch, my lord, and so I reply with a kiss, and another, and another..." She giggled, kissing his face, his throat, his chest, and any and all parts of him she could reach with ease.

  He was astounded. Cathryn was far now from the lady who surveyed all with an emotionless eye and a cool retort. She had been reborn last night as a woman who exuded a licking heat with her sultry smile and sent sparks of sensuality with every look from her dark and shining eyes. When he had breached her defenses, every last one of her defenses, he had hoped to soften her. He had had no thought as to the warmth and gaiety that lay beneath the ice.

  Cathryn had not only been unleashed; she had been uncollared.

  "And here is a kiss for bruising your Frankish pride concerning the wealth of your portion." She kissed his ear, causing him to shiver. "And one for teasing you about your eating habits." She kissed his throat. "And for remarking upon your lack of humility." She kissed his furry chest. "And for being so slow in attending you at your bath. I fear I have much to apologize for in offending your tender, Frankish sensibilities, do I not?" In finale, she kissed her husband quickly on the mouth before moving down to settle comfortably upon his massive chest.

  William ran his hands up and down Cathryn's back, enjoying the silken smoothness of her skin beneath his hands. She was transformed, and he was the man responsible for it; he had never been so pleased with both his effort and the result. S
he was more than he had dared hope for in a wife. He had little thought to find such warmth in the woman who had opened Greneforde's gate to him.

  "Strange is the manner in which the English make amends for their misdeeds and thoughtlessly spoken words," he said, his gray eyes sparkling with reflected sunlight from the open wind hole. "In France, we render each apology with solemnity and grace, taking the time needed to truly heal the wound."

  Cathryn laughed and rolled away from him to lie upon her own side of the bed. Crossing her arms behind her head, she stared at the ceiling and declared, "Short and sweetly to the point is the only way I know to apologize for deeds," and then added, "once thought to be misdeeds."

  William rolled until his weight settled atop her, his furred chest tickling her nipples to urgent life.

  "'Tis as I thought," he declared into her unrepentant face. "The English are too blunt in their manner, and you, wife, are my latest proof. Your culture is a strange one and in need of shoring up lest you sink back into barbarism. We French have been known to be so eloquent in our dialogue that our listeners are often rendered speechless."

  "Perhaps, my lord—" she smiled widely—"they were not speechless, but instead unconscious?"

  William braced his weight with bulging arms on either side of Cathryn's shoulders and looked down into her sparkling brown eyes with stern severity.

  "And with those blunt and uncourtly words, you owe me another apology, wife, and I will have it in the Frankish fashion. And I do promise you," he said as his mouth descended upon hers, "you will stay awake for the whole of it."

  * * *