I thought of Elizabeth, the girl in the village, whom I had promised to help. If William was gone, and I with him, then her hope went with us. But for the others? Maybe he was right. Maybe it made no difference which lord ruled.
He leaned forward in his chair, pushing the plates out of the way. His eyes on me were bright, blazing like a flame. I could almost feel the vehemence of his emotion burning into my skin. “I don’t need this,” he said.
I shook my head slightly, bemused. “What?”
“I mean, I don’t have to have this. All this. I lived without it all those years. I can do it again. I don’t have to be Sir William, Lord of Bitterbrook Keep. I can be William Pendaran, Nobody from Nowhere. If I sided with Henry Tudor and he failed, and if I survived, we could go anywhere. Take your money and do anything we want.”
For a moment—for a long moment—his words frightened me. Terrified me. To be homeless, landless, adrift…. But if I closed my eyes, I could picture the Frankfurt book market. A bustling Flemish port. The wonders of Paris. Even the heretic unknown of Al-Andalus, all open to us to explore.
I leaned forward in my chair, reaching out but not quite touching his hand. I smiled at him instead. “Sir William Pendaran, still and always. From everywhere, not nowhere. And we’d be together. That’s something.”
He finished the gesture I could not, covering my hand with his. “Yes. That is something indeed.”
Yes. Now my cheeks were flaming, the rest of my skin singing along with it, all from the simple touch of his hand on mine. I looked down, suddenly shy. He sat back, relieving me of the joyful pain of that contact, leaving me yearning for more.
Still, it had to be said, the hard truth at the center of our talk. “But it would be treason. To take up arms for Henry Tudor against King Richard, Sir William, it would be treason.”
He took up the knife that lay on the table and held it up between us. The sharp edge glinted in the dim light that reached us through the high windows. With great skill, he spun the knife in his hands. “Not if he won.”
Standing on the steps before the hall, waiting beside Sir William for our horses to be led forth, I was contented enough to allow myself to feel my place as the lady of the manor. In the days I had been here, I had not yet looked at these walls, this earth, as connected to me in any way. Now I tried to envision them as the home in which I would spend the rest of my days. It was both comforting and frightening, and I shivered a little despite the growing warmth of the sun and the weight of my kirtle. The beautiful kirtle that I could not keep myself from touching.
Two of the servants, Curtis and James, led the horses forward, one by one, the huge destrier in the lead. I couldn’t help but remember the last time we went for a ride. How much had changed in me since then. I only hoped I could hold tight to that fragile knowledge, to keep it strong and vibrant when faced with Blanche once again.
Sir William offered me his hand to walk down the stairs. I took it. As we approached the horses, he started to chuckle.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked.
“Eleven days,” he said.
“Eleven days?”
“Eleven days ago, I went to your village and met your father. Eleven days ago, I first saw you. And now here we are.”
“And you find this amusing?” I heard the old sharpness in my voice. How easy it was to fall back into that old habit, to be the old Kathryn.
He lifted me into my horse’s saddle. “Not at all.”
I kicked his hands away from the stirrups and settled my feet in place. But I was laughing too.
The sun, climbing toward noon, was quite hot, and my face was beaded with sweat. Birds clamored and sang in every tree and thicket as we rode, and flying insects went about their work. The unmistakable scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. Tiny rustlings in the grass hinted at small creatures escaping our horses’ hooves. The morning was alive.
I turned my head. “Sir William.”
“Will, if you will,” he replied.
Memories swirled like seeds borne on a puff of wind. A touch of Kathryn’s old anger flared.
“Have you bent me to your will, then, sir? Are you now satisfied that I have no will but yours and I am thoroughly subdued?”
“Is that what you imagine this to be?” He seemed surprised.
“That is what you said.”
“That may be what you heard, but it is not what I said.”
I closed my eyes and went back to the tavern’s common room in my memory. “I will be her only will and she will be mine.” I opened my eyes. “Is that not what you said?”
“Am I not your Will, Kate, or do you have another? Shall I release you from this bondage so you may go to him?” He clutched dramatically at his heart. “Oh, Kate, you wound me! I thought you were mine and I yours!”
I burst out laughing. “I find I can trust neither my eyes nor my ears in your company.”
“Nay, Kathryn was deceived. My Kate sees true.”
“True enough,” I said. “But you did nearly kill your wife with your ‘kindness.’ Surely there was some other way.”
He looked down at his hands on the destrier’s reins before looking at me. “Though words are your favorite weapon and you seemed to enjoy sparring with me, I could not make any progress against your armor. You never seemed to believe anything I said. And even after I told you to stop doing what is expected of you, you went on defying me, did you not? It needed time, and it needed you to open your eyes.”
And my heart, I thought, but did not—could not—say. Fighting sudden tears, I blinked at my horse’s mane, at the flowers dotting the grass, at the clouds high in the blue vault overhead.
“Still,” I said, relying on words to protect me as always; he was right about that. “Still, you must know that I will have my revenge for the unspeakable manner in which you treated me.”
“Oh, most unfair! I did only what was needful!”
“True. Nevertheless.”
“Nevertheless?”
“I am devising diabolical torments for you.”
He grinned. “I shudder to consider it.”
“As well you should, sir.”
“William, if it please you. Or Will.”
“William,” I said, enjoying the feel of his name on my tongue, “have you noted how the moon pours its gentle light over this meadow like milk, making the world pallid and white. One can hardly distinguish one plant from another. The evening air is so cool and fresh, don’t you think?”
“Do you mock me now?” he said. “Enough, Kate, you know it is the sun.”
I shook my head. “You cannot command me here, sir, for I remember well what you said: that it shall be as you say in your house. And this most certainly is not your house.”
He grimaced. “Ah, Kate, you are too clever by half.”
“’Tis your doing, sir.”
“How so?”
“You married me. I have always had too much will, and now I have married Will so I have an excess, a plenitude, nay, a surfeit of will.”
William grinned and reached his hand toward me. I held out my hand, and he took it, pulling me closer. My horse grunted in protest but complied. Standing in his stirrups, William leaned toward me.
“Kiss me, Kate,” he said.
So I did.
I don’t recommend horseback for a first kiss. The unsteadiness of swaying back and forth in the saddle, the grunts and sudden, jerky movements horses make, the missed step dropping out from under you resulting in smashed noses or crunched teeth. These are not the joys you hope for.
Still, his lips—strong, warm, tender—the long-awaited touch, the welling up of your spirit as you feel this, this, at last, the resolution of so many questions, and the opening up of new, delightful ones.
Would it be entirely too dull to say that the day seemed brighter, the birdsongs seemed more joyful, the flowers smelled sweeter after that? Well, either you have been kissed or you haven’t. If you have, you’ll know what I mean, and if
you haven’t yet, you will. The nighttime journey from my town had been a blur of darkness and anger. This daytime journey is no clearer in my recollection because of its brightness. The sun illuminated not just the trees and meadows and tilled fields along our way, but shone its light within me. When we were not speaking to each other, I was content to let the birds speak for me. Everything, that day, was as new as the first day of spring.
As we approached within a few miles of Whitelock, we espied another entourage approaching from the north. Sir William took us off the road at once until he could be sure they were neither brigands as before nor the advance guard of a war party, whether royalists or Tudor’s men. It was, we soon discovered, a company much like our own. A wealthy man traveling with his servants and, because he himself was not trained in arms, his hired guards.
After some deliberation, Sir William decided to approach them. There was more security in greater numbers, he said. We trotted our horses over to meet the man who was, like my father, a wealthy merchant, and I immediately recognized his name.
“Oh, Master Lawry,” I exclaimed. “Your son—for it must be your son—has been a frequent visitor in my father’s house and has been paying court to my sister, Blanche. The only barrier to their wedding is that the young man requires your approval.”
Beside me, William muttered, “That was not the only barrier.”
I prodded him with the toe of my boot, and he subsided, chuckling.
The elder Master Lawry, however, did not look at all pleased at the mention of courtship and marriage arrangements. “I cannot let that boy out of my sight,” he said. “Forgive me, but do you mind if we proceed at a more determined pace?”
“Not at all,” William said. “We are as anxious as you to get to Whitelock.”
The man gathered up his reins, jerking his horse’s head and making the animal fret. “With respect, sir, I think not.”
We rode into the town square not an hour later. I will never in my life be able to do sufficient penance for the pride I felt in our arrival. I know how I must have looked, gleaming in that spectacular kirtle, with the headdress a foot tall and the veil brushing my waist, riding a magnificent horse who was fairly dancing at all the attention. And then there was Sir William with the breastplate of his knightly armor shining in the sun with his sword and shield strapped to the back of his blood-red destrier. Add to that, the parade of servants and guard all mingled together and the grand-looking Master Lawry adding his air of dignity to the procession. No amount of penance will ever be enough, for I shall never, ever feel sorry for it.
The citizens were gathered all agape by the time we had stopped before the inn, and Sir William and Master Lawry were debating whether Master Lawry should accompany us to my father’s house or retire within the inn where young Master Lawry was staying. The dictates of hospitality were not entirely clear, as neither of the men lived in town. I allowed myself to look down just once and saw Ellen, awestruck, peeking out of one of the inn’s windows. I flashed her a “can you believe this?” smile and she waved in bemused agreement.
All the good-natured disputation was beginning to grate on me. I wanted to get past the meeting with my family, obtain my dowry, and go back to Bitterbrook Keep—go home, I realized with surprise—as soon as possible. As I contemplated this shift in perspective, I saw my sister and her tutor, Cameron, hurrying across the street. His posture toward her was at once familiar and protective, and it all came crashing back into my memory. In everything that had happened to me since leaving, I had overlooked the revelation of Blanche’s last “lessons” with Lucas and Cameron, that they were both imposters. The former, of course, being the real Master Horton, and the latter, the real Master Lawry, this elder Master Lawry’s son. That the man who had been meeting with my father as Master Lawry was actually a servant and the tutor was the master. What I had reported to our traveling companion was not incorrect, but it was not nearly correct either.
As all of these thoughts tumbled through my head, I blurted out her name, pointing: “Blanche!”
The men fell silent, looking where I indicated. Blanche stopped. Her companion drew back from her, and I sensed he had been holding her hand or her arm. What had happened in the days I had been gone? She looked toward me, right at me, through me, and away. They continued moving up High Street toward my father’s house.
“What the devil?” Master Lawry exclaimed. “That was my son!”
“As my wife told you,” William said, “he has been courting her sister.”
“I will get to the bottom of this!” Master Lawry said, pulling his horse’s head around and setting off High Street after them. Most of the crowd, sensing a confrontation, followed at a respectful distance.
It seemed the decision had been made.
William, our servants, and I were the only ones left in the square.
“Are we not going to my father’s house?” I asked.
“Soon,” William said. “There is one thing we need to do first.”
William dismounted in front of St. Bernard’s church and tossed the reins of his horse to Gregory, then turned to help me down from the saddle. How many times before had we been in this position, with me waiting to come down from my horse’s back, and how many different ways had that moment ended? All of them flitted through my mind, wrapped up in this one slice of time as I slid my feet from the stirrups and let myself fall into his hands, floating, light as the air around me, light as a leaf on the wind, so that I might never touch the ground again.
He set me down—in actuality, it took no longer than usual for my feet to reach the earth—and drew me close to him, but it is hard to comfortably embrace a man wearing a steel breastplate. He muttered an oath that should have made me blush but instead made me laugh. Taking my hand, he led me inside the church.
The nave was blessedly cool, its walls so thick that the heat of summer never truly penetrated. It being not even midday, only one candle burned, the red candle high above the altar, indicating the presence of God in the church. No ceremonies were going on, and the place was deserted. William went ahead to look for the priest, and I stood in a square of sunlight with my eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of being cool and yet bathed in sunlight at the same time.
It was only a few moments before they returned, the sound of William’s long strides echoing off the rafters overhead, the priest’s humble sandals a shuffling counterpoint. They were speaking as they approached, their voices melding with their footsteps so that I could not hear their words until they were nearly upon me.
“But have you not lived as husband and wife?” Father Edmund was saying, looking very worried.
“Nay, nay, Father, we have been chaste.”
The priest cast a dubious eye on William, turned a hopeful look upon me. I gave him a wide, honest smile.
“You can hear our confessions first, if you wish, Father,” William said.
“Nay, nay,” Father Edmund said, a small echo of William’s big voice.
“We want the church’s blessing, Father,” I said.
“There must not be any questions about our marriage,” William added.
Father Edmund nodded vigorously. “Oh indeed, I take your meaning, sir.” He collected himself. “Shall we step outside, then?”
Weddings took place in front of a church’s doors to show that the partners had nothing to hide and to allow passersby to object if necessary. I must have paled. After Sunday’s embarrassment, I had no desire to be seen getting married here, no matter what William said.
“Just inside, if you please, Father,” William said, giving the purse at his belt a slight jingle.
“Indeed, sir,” Father Edmund said, still nodding. Priests made a good living from such clandestine weddings.
He made us to face each other and clasp hands. Laying his stole over our hands, he said a prayer or two in Latin, the words of which flowed over me like so much Arabic for all I perceived their meaning in that moment. Then he was saying something to Willia
m, and William answered him. Then he turned to me.
“Do you take this man to be your husband?”
Oh. That simple. “I do.”
Turning back to William, he said, “Do you promise to love, honor, and protect Kathryn your wife whatsoever may come, be it sickness or health, sorrow or joy, riches or poverty, until God our heavenly father does see fit to take you from this earth?”
“I do.” Under the fine linen of the priest’s stole, William—my true husband now—gave my hands a squeeze.
I knew what was coming. “And you, Kathryn, do you promise to love, honor, and obey William your husband….” When he said “obey,” I tilted my head slightly, raising my eyebrows at William.
The priest finished speaking. “Kathryn?”
William winked.
“I do. Yes, of course, I do.”
William laughed, loud and echoing in that sacred space. He pulled me close and dipped me back in his arms, kissing me thoroughly. I went hot and cold all over, all at once, my legs weak beneath me. Father Edmund leaped backward, jerking his stole away as though touching us might have sullied it.
“Have you a ring, sir?” Father Edmund asked when William set me back to rights. I was grateful for his arm about my waist, for I was as unsteady as I had been at any time in the last few days, only now it was not for lack of food or sleep. The look on the priest’s face seemed to say that nothing could apologize fully for William’s behavior.
“Oh, yes. That I do.”
William produced a ring from his belt pouch and handed it over to Father Edmund, who blessed it with holy water from the font nearby, his back to us, and returned it to William. As William slid it on my finger, fumbling to get it over my knuckle, he said, “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.” I had heard the words many times before, but never had they had such meaning. His hands on mine spoke volumes. We might have been alone in the church.
Finding Kate Page 24