Juliana Garnett

by The Vow

  The steps of the dance took him in a pattern that required the frequent changing of partners, so that he was not often paired with Ceara. Yet he found himself watching her, seeking out the deep blue gown and tall, slender woman with the bright hair. Flowers had been woven into her loose curls, dainty white and blue and pink, trailing from a woven coronet of ribbons. The gown was lovely—as well it should be, for it had cost him a goodly portion to have it made for her in time for the wedding. The seamstress had done well, for the rich material was fitted to her waist, where a girdle of finely wrought gold links rode her slim hips. Intricate embroidery of golden thread trimmed the hem and long trailing cuffs of the sleeves.

  As she swept gracefully past him, her eyes alight and her face flushed with exertion and enjoyment, Luc realized she was truly beautiful. He had never seen her thus, without a guarded expression or eyes full of contempt, and it rankled that she could so quickly forget her perfidy in lying to the king. And it was even more annoying that she could enjoy herself with such ease.

  “My lord Luc,” a breathless female voice implored, and he turned toward Lady Amélie’s smiling invitation, “do me the favor of escorting me to the bailey for some fresh air. I find it most stifling in here.”

  Luc hesitated. He had assiduously avoided Amélie these past weeks, successfully evading her furious questions after she had learned of his betrothal to Ceara. Now, it seemed harmless enough, as the wedding was done and the widow would surely realize the futility of further pursuit. He bowed.

  “I am at your disposal, Lady Amélie. A few moments of air that does not smell of smoke would benefit us both, I think.”

  He escorted her from the hall, allowing her to place her hand on his bent arm and walk beside him. A cold November wind blew as they left the shelter of the castle and walked along the ramparts. Torches sputtered in iron holders on the walls, casting flickering pools of light across the ground. Ever-vigilant guards glanced at them, then away. Amélie snuggled closer to him, shivering.

  “It is colder out here than I had thought. Let us step into an alcove. There, we could share privacy and—anything that comes to your mind.”

  Luc paused to look down at her. “Amélie, you must know I am wed now.”

  “Of course I know. Do you think me blind and deaf?” She struck him lightly on the arm, shaking her pretty head. “But I also know it was not of your choosing. Everyone knows that the king commanded it.… Luc, why did you not come to me? Do you not find me desirable?”

  “Yes, you know I do. If I remember aright, it was you who did not find me so desirable not too long ago.”

  “Foolish man. I have told you my reasons.” She sighed and turned away. “If I had any idea you would have taken it so amiss, I would never have sought to inspire you to throw yourself into the arms of danger with my ploy. Oh, Luc, you must know that I care deeply for you.…”

  He took a step back, frowning down at her. Torchlight wavered rosily over her lovely features, and her green eyes glinted with a moist sheen. His frown deepened, and he put out a hand to touch her wet cheek. “Tears, Amélie?”

  She choked slightly and bent her head from his touch. “Why have you avoided me this past fortnight?”

  Cynically amused by her show, Luc shrugged. “There was no point in seeing you. William bade me marry Ceara, and there was nothing else to say to you.”

  A steely note crept into her tone. “If you had only replied to my messages, I could have saved you from being wed to that Saxon chit.”

  “I doubt that. Once William has set his mind on a course, it is easier to change the direction of the wind than his decision.”

  Amélie frowned, her dainty brows puckering over the straight line of her nose. “Certainly, but as the king’s wife is my cousin, I could have saved you if only you had come to me in time. Now, you are in a travesty of a marriage with little hope of escape.”

  Impatient now, Luc cupped her elbow in his palm and turned her back toward the castle doors. “It is growing late and we may have been missed. We need to return before the king wonders where I have gone during my own wedding feast.”

  “Oh, Luc—” Amélie turned and pressed her face against his chest. “I regret being so tardy in declaring my feelings for you. Can you ever forgive me, and … and think kindly of me?”

  “I think kindly of you now, Amélie.” Feeling a little awkward, Luc put his arms loosely around her body and held her. “But even had the king not decided I should wed Ceara, I do not think you and I would be suited to one another.”

  Her head tilted back, and even in the dim light he could see the sparks of anger in her eyes. “You do not mean that, Luc Louvat. You know you do not. You wanted me. You threw your heart at my feet in Winchester, and I spurned you so that you would renew your efforts to win lands and a title. You did that—you did it for me, so I would accept your suit.…”

  “Amélie, what I have done, I have done for myself. You are lovely, it is true, and I did want you, but not in the way you so plainly think. There is a vast difference between bedding a woman, and wedding a woman.”

  It was as blunt and kind a refusal as he could make it. His patience was wearing thin, and if the situation was not so irritating, it would have been amusing. But he was not so big a fool as to believe Amélie’s vows of affection. What she desired most was a man’s purse, not his heart. Her last husband had been elderly and frail when she wed him, unable to increase his holdings through merit, so had left his young widow with a title and not much else. Since then debts and heirs had taken most, leaving Amélie to make her own way.

  Now she looked up at him with a pale face and flashing eyes, and he felt a twinge of regret for being so plain-spoken. He cupped her chin in his palm and said softly, “You are very beautiful. I remember fondly our times together, but it is not to be again. My liege lord bade me wed, and that I have done. I will make the best of it, just as you made the best of your lot when your father wed you to Lord de Vescy. Now let us go inside, each to our own lives.”

  Her anger was clear on her face, but she shrugged. “I am already on with my new life, Luc, though you might not care to hear of my plans. Once, they included you, but now … I can only say that you will always be in my life.”

  He frowned. “As you will always be in my past, Amélie. There is no room for you in my life now.”

  Amazingly, Amélie did not rail at him as he expected, but threw her arms around his neck and lifted to her toes to press a fervent kiss on his mouth. He did not push her away at once, but let the kiss linger a moment before gently taking her wrists in his hands to disengage himself.

  A discreet cough was his first hint that they were not alone, and he drew down Amélie’s arms and turned, expecting to find one of the guards. Instead, it was Robert and Ceara who stood there, Robert looking chagrined, and Ceara looking furious.

  To make matters worse, Amélie cooed, “Why, Luc, we have been found out, it seems. I knew we should have gone to my chamber instead.”

  Releasing Amélie’s arms, Luc shook his head. “There is nothing we would have said there that could not be said here in plain view of all. Robert, what do you here?”

  Robert gave a half shrug. “You were missed, and your lady wife and I were sent to search for you. The king wishes to toast your health, and has missed your presence.”

  Worse and worse. Luc moved forward, intending to take Ceara by the arm, but she jerked free of his attempt. Her eyes glinted blue fire in the dim light.

  “Knave! I will not suffer your touch when you have just been holding another! Get you away from me.…”

  He grabbed her arm before she could elude him again, and walked her several steps from Robert and Amélie. “This is not what you think, Ceara. Do not act the witless wife already. We have not been wed a full day yet.”

  “ ’tis not I who have forgotten that, my lord. Go back to your whore. She awaits you with your kiss still wet on her mouth—free my arm. Free my arm or I shall set up such a howl, all in Yor
k will come running to see the cause.”

  There was no doubt she meant what she said, and Luc released her arm with an oath. “Sacré croix, Ceara. Do you think me so unaware of my duty that I would woo another woman the same night I wed you?”

  “The proof is before my eyes.” Ceara shot a dark look toward Amélie. “Perhaps you should tell the king that he wed you to the wrong woman. It is obvious you have a favorite.”

  Luc’s mouth set in a taut line. “I am in no mood to argue the truth. As I detest those who lie, I do not lie. If you would believe me, do so. If not, ’tis your own folly. But hear this—I will not suffer your ill temper because you choose wrongly. You will not lesson me with this, Ceara.”

  “Do you think I want the world to know of your false vow? I do not. All know already that we are forced to wed. I will not take on further shame because you choose to play the lecherous goat.”

  Luc stared after her angrily when she turned and walked away. Curse her, he would not give her the satisfaction of running behind her like a love-sotted youth. Let her think what she willed. If she believed him no better than to make an assignation on the same night he was wed, then he could say nothing that would convince her differently.

  “Luc.…” Robert stood at his side, his voice low. “I did not think we would find you in so awkward a situation. The guard said you walked outside to the ramparts, but did not mention that you were with a lady.”

  Luc glanced at him. Remorse settled on Robert’s dark features. “It is of no matter. I cannot school my every deed or word so that it is not misunderstood. If Ceara chooses to believe me false, it is her burden. Now come. If William has summoned, I had best return.”

  He turned to Amélie. The expression on her face was as contented as a well-fed cat’s, and he couldn’t help a rueful smile. “Well you should look so smug, my lady. You have stirred a hornet’s nest. It should provide you with much entertainment.”

  “Not as entertaining as it could have been had you come to my chamber, but it will do for now, Luc.” She laughed. “If only you could have seen your face when your lady wife railed at you so meanly. I see that marriage will not always be agreeable for you, my love.”

  Still laughing, she accepted Robert’s arm, and the three of them returned to the hall. Loud music and the acrid smell of smoke greeted them when the doors opened, and Luc blinked at the stinging haze. Tumblers were performing, leaping and rolling about the middle of the hall floor to capture the interest of the guests.

  Yet Luc was well aware of interest diverting to him, from the king as well as Ceara. It did not help that he felt guilty, and it angered him that he should. He had done nothing wrong. He should not be made to feel as if he had. Nor would he, not even by William.

  But the king said nothing beyond a courteous remark that the acrobats were quite amazing, and Luc agreed. Ceara sat rigidly in her chair, eyes riveted on the rope dancer that balanced precariously on the narrow width of cord stretched high over the castle floor.

  In that moment, Luc felt much the same as the rope dancer must, balanced high above hazards that awaited him. If he swayed too far to either side, he would plummet to the cold stone.

  Ceara shot him a narrowed glance from beneath her lashes, and he was suddenly impatient to have it all behind him. The night, the consummation that would legalize their wedding—all of it weighed heavily. He wanted it done, so that he could leave York.

  Rising to his feet, Luc signaled the king that he was ready to end his participation in the wedding feast, and William smiled assent.

  “Ah, it is time for the wedding night to begin, I see. You have our blessing, Lord Louvat, you and the lady.”

  William rose to his feet and offered a toast to the bride and groom, and England’s blessing upon them. The toast was echoed by many others, finally ending with a jocular toast from Robert de Brionne, who wished them healthy sons and beautiful daughters to grace their old age.

  “And may they all look like the lady, instead of their homely sire,” he ended to the accompaniment of much laughter from the guests.

  But when Luc turned to Ceara, he was surprised by the stricken panic in her wide blue eyes as she realized the moment was at hand. Curse her, the worst had been done. What could she possibly fear from him now?

  Chapter Eleven

  A DRAFT STIRRED the wall hangings and made the candle flames dance. Shadows undulated across the walls and over the high, wide bed against the far wall. Ceara did not move. She would break into pieces if she dared move a muscle. All about were smiling faces, the Saxon and Norman barons who had come to witness the ceremonial bedding of the newly married couple.

  It was a formality only, a ritual intended to complete the legal binding of the newly wedded couple. As she was widowed—and the events preceding the marriage were dubious—there would be no humiliating rite of public undressing and showing of the sheets afterward. All that was, thankfully, unnecessary.

  Yet still, even this, the crowding into the chamber by barons and king, was fraught with tension for her. She did not want to look at Luc, much less lie beside him in the huge bed heavy with draperies. Nor did she wish to suffer the excited attentions of the giggling serving women who had removed her wedding garments and now garbed her in a soft flowing gown of fine linen embroidered with delicate stitchery and tiny pearls. It was a travesty. A mockery of all it should have been. Did no one else see it? Was she the only one to recognize that the king’s efforts to gently bind Saxon and Norman were for naught?

  Yes, and yes. Luc was aware of it. It was in his eyes, in his voice and his taut posture. How did he speak with their well-wishers as if they would soon return to Wulfridge and marital harmony? Yet she had heard him plainly, the regret in his voice when he told Lady Amélie: “My liege lord bade me wed, and that I have done … I will make the best of it, just as you made the best of your lot when your father wed you to Lord de Vescy. Now let us go inside, each to our own lives.…”

  Her fingernails dug into her palms, but she allowed two serving women to guide her to the bed, where she stepped up the wooden assist to the high, thick mattress. Amid much laughter and bawdy jokes—she blushed to hear them and for once truly wished she did not understand their language—she was tucked beneath the coverings and her gown duly removed. A brief spurt of rebellion flared, but the image of being forcibly parted from her garments rose up to taunt her and she submitted silently. The lovely gown was laid over the end of the bed as she held the bedclothes up to her chin and waited in a stew of apprehension.

  Luc was escorted to the bed by a much rowdier pair of gentlemen, one of them being Sir Robert. She averted her eyes when Luc was stripped of his clothing with none of the restraint that had been given her, then fairly tossed into the bed. More jests were made, then the king demanded that all depart and leave the couple in peace to begin their married lives.

  A candle was placed atop a table near the bed, and in a few moments the chamber was empty of all save Luc and Ceara. As the door slammed shut, the echoes sounded much too loud in the sudden stillness.

  It was cool, even beneath the warm coverings, and the bed hangings shifted in the room’s drafts. Ceara shivered. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as Luc turned toward her, and his voice betrayed nothing of what he felt.

  “We are to consummate in order to be bound legally.”

  “I know that.”

  Silence fell again, thick and freighted with tension. Luc’s breathing seemed overloud, and the heat of his body seemed much too close though there was a good foot of empty space between them. He lay back upon the fat feather pillows and stared up at the canopy overhead.

  “This is of your own making, Ceara,” he said into the thick silence.“If you did not want this, you should not have provoked William. I tried to warn you. As seems usual for you, you did not listen to wiser heads.”

  She turned toward him angrily. “I wanted to go home. To my home. Wulfridge is mine, not yours, no matter how many dead Saxons you had to walk
over to get it.”

  He sat up again, the covers falling down from his chest as he faced her, tension scoring grooves on each side of his mouth. “Pray tell me, gentle mistress, how many dead men do you think your father walked over to keep Wulfridge? And his father before him? And before him? How many were slain to take the lands from those who held them first? That castle is Roman in origin. Do you not think that your ancestors took it by force? Do you think the only blood spilled there is innocent? Nay, do not prate to me of such foolish things, for I know the ways of war far better than do you.”

  “You should. You wage it often enough.” She drew a deep, painful breath, shaking with emotion. Honesty demanded that she recognize the truth of his claim. Sorrow reminded her that he wanted another woman in his bed.

  “Yea,” Luc said softly, “I do wage war often. It is the only life I have known since I was but a lad. Unlike you, who took it up as a caprice, war is my profession. I was trained to it from the time I was old enough to heft a wooden sword in my hands, since I was old enough to learn that one does not suffer blows without striking back. Do not think to lesson me on war, milady, for you are a poor pupil trying to teach a master.”

  “And yet—”

  “Do not say it.”

  His soft warning held a wealth of menace, and she paused. To remind him again of how she had bested him might provoke him too greatly. After a moment, she looked away, brushing angrily at the tears in her eyes. It was all so hopeless, and any tenderness she had once thought to find in him was only an illusion. She had gravely erred if she thought this man felt any kindness toward her. He was just as he seemed—savage and warlike. A true Norman.

  And she had seen him hold another woman in his arms, a woman he had freely chosen. How he must hate her for coming between them.

  They lay there quietly for a time, staring up at the bed canopy and listening to the muffled noise of merriment that drifted from the great hall. York castle was unfinished yet, so sound traveled through the thin walls easily. She could hear the melodies of lute and lyre, accompanied by the thin sweet tune of a flute. It was a Saxon ballad like those she had heard as a child, and she closed her eyes, suddenly grieving for all that had been lost to her.