TheWooingofLadyElisa

by Rosemary Laurey

  “She’ll go with you, I have spoken it.”

  “And so, my friend, has she,” Marco replied, standing and setting her on her feet.

  “You are too scrupulous, Marco,” John replied, “but let’s not discourse it further, the meal awaits.”

  And a fine meal too, not that John understood one fraction of the labor involved or how close their larders were to depletion. But, as she’d asked, he announced a great hunt on the morrow to prepare for the wedding feast, and he was pleased with the players’ choice of The Tragic History of Pyramus and Thisbe. Elisa’s heart ached for the tragedy of the lovers, and a shadow darkened her mind at a sudden pang of fear that she would be parted thus from Marco. Impossible! They had agreed, and John had decreed two nights from now she would share Marco’s bed.

  She turned to look at him, He was handsome beyond measure, courtly, generous—she fingered the pearl pendant at her breast—and loving. Her lips and arms ached for more of his touch. As if sensing her thoughts, he turned her way and gave her a smile and a look that promised years of happiness, to watch their children grow in Bella Vista.

  * * * * *

  The hunting parties left shortly after dawn and the castle set to work. Elisa commandeered the baker’s oven in the village to supplement the castle’s kitchen, promising food would be distributed in the village to commemorate her wedding. The castle was astir with activity, sides of beef turned on the spit, pies baked in the ovens and the courtyard was white with the feathers of chickens being plucked. Around her were the sounds of wood chopping to maintain the cooking and heating fires and the shouts of agitated cooks and the flustered blacksmith. And amidst it all, the shouts of children and the squawking of hens as they were chased down to be killed and plucked.

  Seeing all was under way, Elisa repaired to her chamber where Anne and Marjorie were occupied sewing Elisa’s wedding gown. There had been no time to send for the draper and his samples, so they were busy sewing a spare length of silk and some lace unearthed in a trunk to Elisa’s best gown.

  In the laundry, two women from the village had been busy since yesterday washing and ironing Elisa’s petticoats and shifts in preparation for packing. All her belongings would be clean and mended but simple. Once, she’d dreamed of a marriage chest of silk and lace and velvets, but the past years of shortage put paid to that hope. She would be leaving with very few marriage goods.

  Her throat tightened at the thought of moving forever from her home, but she was leaving to be a wife to Marco, to know his caress and to be surrounded by his courtesy and love for the rest of their lives. A fair exchange. It had been agreed that her serving woman Anne was to travel with her. The blacksmith who had harbored hopes of Anne was in a surly mood but did not refuse to shoe the horses. He knew better.

  There was much to oversee, but she must take time to pack her few jewels and treasures in the leather-covered box Marco had sent up that morning. She had little enough. She still had not told John how many of her mother’s jewels she’d parted with before she was reduced to selling her hair. A few remained, aside from her mother’s pearls. They were mostly trinkets that had been rejected by the jeweler in the town. What she had, Elisa wrapped in linen pouches and placed in the box, along with her treasured prayer book, given to her by her mother’s uncle the Abbot of Whaley.

  Looking though her work chest, she found, knotted in a handkerchief, the silver bangle Edwin had given her on their betrothal.

  She’d worn it for him, until she got word of his death. Then had packed it away. Now it seemed as if his ghost entered her chamber, reminding her of her promise to him. If his ghost did not rest easy, she would pray for him, but now another man was claiming her. It was one of the twists of life and death.

  What to do with this now? It was fine-worked silver with a pattern of grape leaves. Pretty in its own way, but she could never, as Marco’s wife, wear a gift from another lover. To give it to Anne or Marjorie was not right. It was too fine for a servant, and if word spread to Edwin’s family, they would be offended. Perhaps she would do best to return it to them.

  That seemed harsh. Another reminder of their lost son. She put it aside to worry about later. Mayhap would be easiest to leave it here and let John decide the best course.

  She had work to do.

  She left her chamber and was halfway down the stairs when she met Edith, the head of the linen room, and two the linen maids, laden with boxes and packages.

  “What is it?” Elisa asked.

  “For you, lady, sent by your lord’s man.” Elisa could hardly believe her eyes. They had not said her “lord brother”. They meant Marco.

  “Come.” She picked up her skirts and led them back up to the chamber, and there they unwrapped packages and opened boxes, exclaiming at the riches before their eyes. Silks in pure white and bright jewel colors, some as fine as gossamer, others heavy as winter woolens. Laces, some made with gold and silver, lengths of fine linens, buttons of gold and fine-cut glass, buckles for her shoes and even a bundle of furs so pale as to seem white.

  It was riches to furnish a wardrobe for a queen, and it as all hers.

  “Lady,” Anne said, holding up a length of blue silk in one hand and silver lace in another. “If we work all day, we can make you a new dress for your marriage. And look at this.” She lifted a length of darker blue silk. “This is so light and fine, we will make you a flowing veil to cover your head.”

  Elisa could not stem their excitement, did not wish to. It matched her own. She now had the marriage chest of her dreams, not from her labors or John’s beneficence, but as a gift of love from Marco.

  “Yes,” she told them, “I must go to the kitchen but will return as soon as I can.”

  She all but skipped down the stairs, thinking of the morrow when she would go to Marco, dressed as richly as any princess. Perhaps it was worldly to care so much for beautiful things, but she so wished to look her finest on her wedding day.

  She needed new travel clothes too. Would there be time to fashion a cloak from the furs? She almost turned back to her room but made herself descend and cross the courtyard to the kitchen. Before long, they would have a hungry hunting party to feed.

  She worried about having enough food for tomorrow’s feast, but very soon seeing to provisions at Thorncroft would no longer be her burden.

  Until she arrived at Bella Vista, and there, if Marco spoke truly—and could she ever doubt him?—there would be work and labor aplenty.

  Leaving Anne and Marjorie to their needles, Elisa spent most of the day supervising the kitchens, bullying the lads to replace the used rushes on the hall floor and encouraging the younger children who maintained the fires to heat cauldrons of water in the yard.

  By late afternoon, when the hunting party returned, there was fresh bread and cheese with ale to slake their immediate hungers and an abundance of hot water for washing. A party of her brother’s men-at-arms and several of Marco’s company set to skinning and butchering. There were some fine skins, but it was no longer her responsibility to see they were tanned for the winter.

  She hoped all would be well once she was gone.

  “Sister!” She turned at her brother’s voice. “Why stand you here?”

  “To see all is in readiness for the feast tonight.”

  He gave a grunt. “Don’t let the food be late, and is there entertainment for us?”

  “Jugglers and acrobats I sent for when I heard they were in the town, and minstrels from the cathedral.”

  “I want no churchy music tonight, sister.”

  “It is agreed. They will play dance music and some of the number will sing ballads.”

  He could find no fault with that so she took her leave and hastened back to her chamber, hoping Anne would have hot water ready for her.

  They had indeed. Marjorie had found a vial of perfume among Marco’s gifts, and they had decorated her old green gown with some of the silver lace.

  “It will show him how much you value his gifts,�
� Marjorie said, and Elisa couldn’t disagree.

  Not two hours of the clock later, wearing her green dress embellished with silver lace, Elisa fastened her mother’s pearls around her neck. It was fitting, she decided, to wear them tonight, her last night as a maid of Thorncroft. After tightening her kerchief, Elisa left her chamber and headed for the parlor, hoping that Marco would come in early before her brother.

  As she opened the door, she glimpsed a shadow on the floor and turned toward it, smiling. “Marco!” She ran across the room and into his arms. He picked her up by the waist, twirling her around as they kissed, keeping her in the air. As he set her back on her feet, it took her several moments to catch her breath. “I have missed you,” she said, feeling shy, elated and joyous at one and the same time.

  “I too,” he replied. “Coursing after hares and shooting birds is poor sport compared to holding you, sweet Elisa.”

  “I thank you for your gifts,” she said, fingering the lace at her collar. “They are all so fine.”

  “You make them fine.”

  “You’ve given me so much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He chuckled, deep and earthy. “I do, my sweet, and tomorrow night I will show you.”

  “Yes.” The blush burned her face as a sweet warmth grew between her legs. “I truly wish to be your wife.”

  “Dearest love.” He pulled her close and kissed her again, his hand stroking her bottom as he pulled her against him. Her gasp was swallowed by the kiss, but there was no mistaking Marco desired her. She might be a virgin but learned by her eyes and ears what went on between male and female.

  Sweeping her up in his arms, Marco crossed the room to the seat in the window. He sat down, holding her close on his lap as her legs stretched out beside him. His hands were on her breasts then inside the neck of her dress. As he touched a warm finger to her breast, wild pleasure shot through her. Something deep between her legs throbbed with excitement. Scared she might cry out and draw attention to them, she lifted her head and kissed him again. Sheer and utter joy flooded her mind and body as she clung to him and he caressed her other breast.

  So this was the pleasure the maids and women had spoken of. They had told half-truths.

  She lay in his arms, at once limp and plaint and agog with excitement and anticipation. A whimper of disappointment broke from her as he lifted his mouth off hers and moved his hand from her breast to straighten her dress.

  “Marco,” she said, her breath still coming fast. “That was so wonderful.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “and if I had my way, we would never stop, but we can both wait one night, and tomorrow I will make you mine, in all ways.”

  “I do not want to wait.”

  “But we must, my love, and the prize will be worth it, trust me.”

  How could she not? “It will be hard to wait.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “but I have crossed oceans, deserts and mountains to find you, sweetest Elisa. What hardship could one more day bring us?”

  None, as long as the wine and ale lasted and food was to her brother’s pleasing.

  At the sound of footsteps outside and the quiet woof of one of her brother’s dogs, Marco eased her off his lap so she sat beside him. Very close beside him as he held her hand. She smiled up at Marco and bit her lip. Was she as flushed as he was, and would John notice?

  Seemed not. “Come,” he said, smiling. “Let us to feast. The hall is set, is it not, sister?”

  “Indeed it is.” And had been for some time. The hungry company waiting while John tarried and she and Marco embraced. “The hall is set.”

  And well set at that. Knowing the hunt had brought in so much, she’d given orders to serve all the meats prepared that day. Tomorrow they could start again cooking.

  Chapter Four

  Dishes were brought around, fresh bread trenchers provided between courses and good ale and sweet cider flowed. She’d kept back most of the wine for tomorrow; her wedding, their wedding, merited that surely.

  The minstrels were to John’s satisfaction, playing merry tunes between sad ballads, and in the dancing interlude before the jugglers and acrobats, John danced with her three times.

  “I will miss you, Elisa,” he said, surprising her with his candor as they held hands and danced the round. “We may never see each other again, but I know Marco will be good to you. Your groom is a good, honorable man.”

  “And a brave and noble one.”

  He nodded. “Indeed he is. I truly do own him my life.” He went quiet for a moment. “So many died out there in the desert. Too many.”

  One of whom she’d pray for to the end of her days but whom she could not truly mourn. “You found me a fine husband, brother, and I will write to you. I promise.”

  “Send word when you give him an heir and I will have a celebration here at Thorncroft.”

  “I will, John.” And she so hoped that was soon, very soon. She looked up at the high table where Marco sat, watching her. As their eyes met, he smiled.

  “I see,” John said, “your betrothed gets impatient. I must release you back to him. I will miss you, sister.”

  And she would miss him and Thorncroft, but to be mistress of her own hall, not just the caretaker of her brother’s, was an honor she looked forward to.

  John led her back to the table and Marco met them as they approached the dais.

  “Now I will dance with my bride-to-be.”

  Yes.

  With her hand in his and his arm on her waist, he spun her into the dance and the world stopped. It was as if they were alone in the hall, the minstrels, the cooks and the company receding into the distance so Marco and she were locked in a bubble of their own contentment.

  How her life prospects had changed in just three days. Looking at Marco and catching his eye as they danced, she wished this were their wedding feast and in a short while they’d be sung and drummed to their marriage chamber and she would know the completeness of his body.

  But one day was not long to wait.

  The music came to an end and Elisa was surprised to see Eoward, the steward, approach the high table and whisper something in John’s ear. Perhaps the tumblers and acrobats were ready. But why would he tell John? Eoward always left house matters to her.

  She was even more astounded when John left his place on the dais and came toward her. “One minute,” she said to Marco. “It seems John needs me.”

  “You may have twenty or a hundred minutes, lady,” he replied, “as long as you return to me.”

  “As if I could not.”

  “Elisa!”

  She turned to face John. “Brother?” What had Eoward told him to put that scowl on his face?

  “We have guests—Sir Mark and Lady Margaret Doune.”

  Edwin’s parents? They had been invited to the wedding tomorrow, but why arrive so early? “I must talk to Eoward and see about a room for them.” They would expect a chamber of their own, and who could they turf out at such short notice?

  “You must come with me.” John took her elbow. “They await us.”

  “Why did Eoward not summon them into the hall?”

  That John didn’t answer, just strode to the door, taking her with him. “They wait in the chapel,” was all he said as they crossed the courtyard in the chill of the evening. She wished she’d had the chance to send Anne or Marjorie for a cloak.

  But she went along with her brother, wondering what had caused them to arrive early. She would make them welcome of course, but she had more on her mind than accommodating her deceased betrothed’s parents.

  The chapel was dark and cold. In the wavering light of the lantern John had taken from Eoward, stood Edwin’s parents.

  “Welcome, neighbors. Would you not come into my hall?” John asked.

  A very good question. They could all be warm in the hall, watching the jugglers set up instead of shivering here in the dark and cold.

  “Sir Mark, Lady Margaret,” Elisa said, bobbing a curtsey. “Welcom
e. We’ll prepare a chamber for you.”

  “First we must speak, Elisa,” Sir Mark said.

  It was then she spied the third figure with them, standing back a little. She grabbed the lantern from John and, ignoring his protest, held it high. “Edwin!” she gasped as the thin light caught her one-time betrothed. “You live!”

  John took the lantern back as it shook in her hand.

  “Indeed I do, Elisa. You sound shocked to see me.”

  “Small wonder, son,” his father said. “We were astounded at your arrival this morning, your mother collapsing with shock as you walked into our hall.”

  “We all mourned your death, son,” Lady Margaret said. “Elisa mourned with us.”

  “This,” said Sir Mark, “is why we insisted we meet you out here. I did not want to cause a disturbance in your hall.”

  Only a disturbance to her heart, mind and soul. “I am glad to see you well and alive, Edwin,” Elisa said. That was true, knowing how much his parents had mourned his death, but oh, if only he could have returned a day later!

  “Are you, Elisa? I hear it took little time for you to betroth yourself to another.”

  Unfair and he surely knew it. “I agreed to marry the husband of my brother’s choosing.”

  “No matter. Now you will marry me. It has been long agreed.”

  “That is why we came at once,” Sit John said. “This must be settled between us. Assuming there is no dishonor.”

  She flushed at that, not that anyone would notice in the dark. What counted as dishonor? Welcoming another man’s embrace?

  “I see,” John replied, his voice laden with worry and concern. “Let us proceed to the parlor, and I will send for food and wine, and we will consider this.” He turned to her. “Elisa, return to the hall by the main door. I will take them by the side gate into the parlor, have food and wine brought to us and send a servant to see the fire is well lit.”

  “Yes, brother.” As they started moving, she caught Edwin’s sleeve. “Edwin, a word if I may.”

  “We will have all the words you wish once we are married. Did you accept gifts from this foreigner?”