A page had reserved space for David behind the royal family. At the other end of his row stood the rigid form of Morvan Fitzwaryn. In front of him Christiana focused her attention on the priest at the altar, not once turning her head.
The mass was brief and after it the priest came down from the altar and called Christiana and himself forward. Christiana, her cloak still on to ward off the chill in the chapel, went to her brother, then the two of them joined David in front of the priest. He looked over at her and saw a vacant expression in her eyes as she trained her gaze on a spot somewhere in the distance. She looked noble and calm and emotionally void.
Morvan took her hand and placed it in David's. It felt incredibly small and soft. One slight tremble shook her arm, and then they listened to the priest's prayer before pledging their troth. She recited the words like a school lesson, her expressionless chant suggesting that they held no meaning, if indeed she even heard them.
She turned for the betrothal kiss, lifting her face dutifully but keeping her eyes downcast. David felt an odd combination of sympathy and annoyance.
In the law of the church and the realm, she belonged to him now, but she had carefully managed not to see or acknowledge him since her arrival. It had been subtle, and he knew that she had done it for her own sake and to control her own pain. She had not deliberately tried to insult him. He simply didn't matter. He doubted that anyone but Morvan had even noticed.
He suspected that Christiana sought to turn this betrothal into a dream so that she could wake when her lover came and find that it had conveniently never really happened. That he understood this girl did not mean, however, that he felt inclined to indulge her illusions with the dutiful kiss that she now offered and expected.
He did not care that the King and Queen stood nearby, nor that the angry brother watched. This was solely between him and her.
He stepped close to her and laid his hand on her cheek. A small tremor awoke beneath his touch.
The hood of her cloak still rested atop her head, hiding her hair. He could tell that she wore it unbound, a symbol of virginity, as was traditional for the ceremony. With his other hand he pushed the hood away. The thick black locks cascaded down her back, and his hand followed until he embraced her.
“Look at me, Christiana,” he commanded quietly.
The black lashes fluttered. The creamy lids rose slowly. Two diamonds flashed startled alertness and fear.
He lowered his head and tasted the soft sweetness of her trembling lips.
CHAPTER 3
CHRISTIANA STUDIED THE chessboard propped on the chest between her and Joan. She shifted a pawn. Joan quickly took one of her knights. “You are playing badly today,” she said.
They sat by a window in Isabele's bedchamber. The princess had gone to visit a friend in another part of Westminster, and Lady Idonia had accompanied her.
Christiana tried to concentrate on the game and not think about her betrothal three days earlier. In particular she worked hard not to reflect on David de Abyndon, but his intense eyes and warm touch kept intruding on her memory in a distressing way. He had handled the ceremony and dinner very kindly, almost sympathetically. With one stunning exception.
“You never told me what it was like getting betrothed,” Joan said.
Christiana shrugged. “I don't remember much. I was most unsettled.”
Joan tossed her blond curls and her eyes twinkled. “What was the kiss like? It looked like a wonderful kiss.”
Christiana stared at the chessmen scattered on the board. She had been working especially hard not to think about that kiss.
What should she say to Joan? What could she say? How could she explain that only the most necessary part of her had paid attention to either the mass or the pledge? That she had deliberately dulled her mind so that she would get through the morning without panicking. That she had filled her heart with Stephen and the trust and knowledge of his love, and that the whole scene in the church had only been a restless dream that would quickly fade.
Until there had been that hand on her face in a gesture of intimacy, forcing her awake as surely as a shake during the night. A voice commanding her to look reality in the face. An embrace and a kiss of masterful possession.
What was that kiss like? Confusing. Frightening. Longer than necessary. Long enough to make clear that one of them intended to treat this betrothal seriously.
The sensation of a streak of warmth flowing through her body licked at her memory. She shifted restlessly and forced all of her attention on the chess game.
Aye, she did not want to think or talk about that kiss very much at all. “It was nice enough.”
At least that part of this travesty was over. Now she had only to wait for Stephen to come.
“Have you ever been kissed before?” Joan asked.
Christiana wished that she could confide in her friend, but Joan was a notorious gossip. It had, of course, crossed her mind that if Joan did gossip, and Morvan learned about Stephen, then maybe her brother would encourage the Percys to change their mind. She had immediately felt guilty for that unworthy thought. After all, she didn't want Stephen offering for her at the point of a sword. That wouldn't be necessary anyway.
The memory of Stephen's mouth crushing hers fluttered in her mind. David's kiss hadn't been at all like that, but then they had been standing in a church in front of a king and a priest. Still …nay, she didn't want to think about that kiss. “I have been kissed before. Frankly, didn't like it. I think that I am one of those women who doesn't.”
Joan's expression contained a touch of pity. “He is very handsome,” she said after a pause. “If you have to marry a merchant, he may as well be a rich and handsome one.”
Christiana knew that Joan echoed the opinion of the whole court. Poor Christiana. A sweet girl. Too bad about the King giving her to a common merchant, but at least he is rich and handsome. It reminded her of the encouraging sympathy offered to a maimed knight. Too bad that you will never walk right again, but at least you are not dead.
“Lady Elizabeth buys from him, you know,” Joan added very casually. “And Lady Agnes and a few others.”
Joan always managed to find out such things. In the last week she had probably learned all there was to know in Westminster about David de Abyndon. She would drop tidbits like this here and there as it suited her.
“They prefer to go to his shop, which is quite wonderful. You really should have come with us, Christiana. He brings in silks from Italy and as far away as India. There are tailors there too. The women who use him treat him like a secret and will go nowhere else. Lady Agnes says that Lady Elizabeth's whole white and silver style was his idea. I'm surprised that you never saw him before this happened if Elizabeth is one of his patrons.”
Lady Elizabeth, a widow, had been a special friend of Morvan's for a number of months a year ago. She was at least ten years older than him but exquisitely beautiful. Her most notable features were her prematurely white hair and her translucent white skin. Court rumors had predicted a marriage, but then Elizabeth had accepted the offer of an elderly lord and suddenly her friendship with Morvan had cooled.
For two years now, Elizabeth had affected a highly personal style that enhanced her unique beauty. She wore only white and silvery grays. Even her jewels were reset in silver.
“Isabele is convinced that he will make you work for him,” Joan giggled. “Idonia has explained that wealthy merchants don't do that, but Isabele sees the women working in the shops and thinks that you will have to as well.”
Dear saints, Morvan would kill her to protect the family honor before he swallowed that. “It is your move, Joan,” she said, deciding that it was time to end the subject.
A page entered a short time later. “My lady, your husband is in the hall and bids you to attend on him,” he said to her.
She stared at the boy as if he had spoken gibberish. “Is that the message as he sent it?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“I do not much l
ike this message,” she said to Joan.
“It sounds common enough to me.”
“He is not my husband yet.”
“Oh, Christiana, you know that betrothed couples are often referred to as husband and wife. Saturday was the first part of the ceremony, and the wedding is the conclusion. It is half done.”
Not for me, she wanted to shout. And this man knows it.
She also didn't like, not one bit, being “bidden” to do anything by David de Abyndon. When Morvan put her hand in David's, it was symbolic of handing over authority and responsibility, but under the circumstances of this particular betrothal, that was meaningless too.
She turned to the page. “Tell my betrothed that I regret that I cannot attend on him this morning. I am grateful that he has visited, but I am not well. Tell him that I have a headache and am feeling dizzy.”
“I hope that you know what you are doing,” Joan said.
More to the point was the importance that David know what she was doing. She had told him that they would not see each other, and if he mistakenly thought that she meant only before the betrothal, then this should clarify it. She had no intention of explaining to Stephen when he came that she had been playing out this farce more than necessary.
A short while later their door flew open and the page reappeared, red faced and winded from running.
“My lady, your hus … that man is coming here.”
“Coming here!”
“Aye. I handed him over to another page and sent them the long way, but he will be here soon.”
She looked desperately at Joan as the page left.
“I thought that you knew what you were doing,” Joan said, laughing.
She jumped up. “Help me. Quickly.” She ran into the bedchamber's anteroom and threw back the coverlet on her bed. “Tuck me in and close the curtains. Try not to let any of my gown show.”
“This isn't going to work.” Joan giggled as she poked the coverlet around her neck and sides.
“Tell him that I am resting and send him away.”
Joan grinned and pulled the curtains.
Christiana lay absolutely still in the dark shadows of the bed. She could hear Joan walking around, humming a melody. She felt a little ridiculous doing this, but something deep inside her said that she should not see this man again.
Even though her curtains muffled the sounds, she heard the boots walking into the room.
“Master David!” Joan cried brightly.
“Lady Joan. You, at least, appear to be well.”
Christiana sighed. This man's quiet, beautiful voice had a talent for putting a lot of meaning into simple words without so much as changing its inflection. It was very clear that he knew that she lied about being ill, but then she had counted on him seeing that. She just hadn't counted on him coming to confront her and thus forcing her to pretend that she hadn't lied.
“Indeed I am very well, David. And you?”
“Well enough, my lady. Although I find myself recently more short of temper than is normal.”
“No doubt it is something that you ate.”
“No doubt.”
Boots paced across the floor. “I am told that Christiana is ill.”
“Aye. She is resting, David, and really should not be disturbed.”
“What is the malady?”
“It was really quite frightening. When she awoke this morning she was overcome with dizziness. She almost fell. We put her right back to bed, of course, and that seems to help. She could be abed for days, even weeks.”
Don't overdo it. Christiana prompted silently.
“It sounds most serious,” David said. “Such an illness is not to be taken lightly. Perhaps I should pay the abbey monks to say masses on her behalf.”
“We are very worried, but I trust all will be well soon. We will be sure to send word to you when she is better.”
“Is this her bed? I will see her before I go.”
“I really don't think that will be wise, David,” Joan said hurriedly. “The light seems to make it worse.”
A clever touch, Christiana thought approvingly.
But not clever enough. “I will be quick.”
Even with her eyes closed, Christiana saw the light flood over her as the curtains were pushed back.
She gasped as he took her firmly by the waist, lifted her up, and dropped her on her back.
She lowered her lids as if the light hurt them, and moaned for effect. She hoped that she looked suitably pale and ill.
David gave her hip a gentle whack, gesturing for her to move over. Biting back her indignation, she scooted a little and he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Well, Christiana, I am very concerned. A headache and dizziness. You seem to have a serious illness indeed.”
That hardness around his mouth seemed a bit more pronounced. Something in his expression suggested that he was capable of being the exact opposite of the kindly merchant whom she had first expected.
He rubbed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “No fever. All the same, I think that we should have a physician see you at once.”
“I am sure that isn't necessary.” She tried to make her voice a little weak but not too much so. “I am feeling better, and I am sure that this will pass.”
He ignored her. “I will have to ask around and see which of the ones at court are any good. Some of these physicians immediately want to bleed the patient, and that is so painful. We would like to avoid it if possible, don't you think?”
She had been bled once when she was eleven. She thought that avoiding it was an excellent idea.
“On the other hand, headaches and dizziness are probably caused by the humors that require it.”
“I really find that I am feeling much better. The light doesn't bother me at all now.”
“The idea of being bled always makes one feel better, my girl, but it doesn't last. However, if you think that you are recovering a little for now, I would really prefer to get you dressed and take you to see a Saracen physician whom I know in Southwark. He is an expert in ladies' illnesses, and treats all of the whores in the Stews. He is very skilled.”
“A Saracen! A whores' physician!” She completely forgot to make her voice weak at all.
“Aye. Trained in Alexandria. Saracen physicians are much better than Christians. We are barbarians in comparison.”
“I assure you that going to Southwark is not needed, David. Truly, I am feeling enormously better. Quite myself, in fact. I am confident that I am completely cured.”
He smiled slowly. “Are you? That is good news. However, you must be sure to let me know if these spells return. I will be sure to get you to a physician immediately. I am responsible for you now, and would not have your health neglected.”
She glared at him. This “husband” who had “bid her attend on him” was reminding her of his rights and warning her not to play this game again. She could think of nicer ways to have made the point without threatening to have her arm cut open.
He rose. Apparently his oblique scolding was finished, and Christiana felt confident that he would leave. She glanced at Joan triumphantly.
David looked down at her. “The day is fair. Perhaps all that you need is some fresh air to clear your head.”
“I'm not at all sure …”
His gaze lit on the closest ambry. “Are your things in here? We will get you dressed and I will take you out for a while.”
She narrowed her eyes at David's handsome face. One farce after another. She couldn't claim to be too dizzy to go out but also too well to see a physician. He had cleverly, elegantly manipulated her ruse against her.
“I am already dressed,” she announced, throwing back the coverlet and sitting up, admitting defeat.
“So you are,” he said quietly, coming toward her with a vague smile on his face and her old cloak in his hand. “What a disappointment. I was looking forward to that part.”
That smile made her very uncomfortable. She would
admit defeat, but not surrender. “Unfortunately,” she said regretfully, “I cannot go with you. It is a rule. None of us can be with a man alone.”
Joan nodded her head vigorously in support.
“Lady Idonia is gone, and unfortunately Joan has to meet with her brother soon,” she added.
Joan continued nodding even though she had no such plans.
“It is a most serious prohibition,” she emphasized. “As you can imagine, the consequences for disobeying are dire.”
“Dire,” Joan echoed helpfully.
David gave them both a look that indicated he thought that consequences had not been nearly dire enough for the two of them over the years.
“I might risk it, except that the Queen is most strict and …” She threw up her hands.
David flipped the cloak out and around her shoulders. He bent to pin the brooch under her neck. His closeness, and his hands working near her body, made her yet more uncomfortable.
“I am not just a man, I am your betrothed. What is the worst that can happen? If I ravish you, it simply means that the marriage is finalized that much earlier. Perhaps they would thank me for taking you off their hands. Besides, it is for me to punish your future bad behavior and not Lady Idonia and the Queen.”
He was talking to her like a child again. In fact, he was dressing her like a child. Furthermore, this was his second reference to that, and she really could do without his innuendos. They prodded at something inside her that she didn't want to think about. Since they insinuated a familiarity that simply wasn't going to develop, she thought that it would be nice if they didn't even jest about it.
This merchant's presumptions indicated that he was taking his betrothal rights far too seriously. She did not want to be alone with David de Abyndon any longer than necessary, and she had ruined the chance of getting Joan to come with them. While he put on his own cloak, she caught Joan's attention.
Idonia, she mouthed.
She stood up to leave. With a smooth movement David bent and scooped her into his arms. She cried a startled “Oh!” and stared at him.
“I can walk.” She fumed when he laughed.
“There are steps. If you get dizzy again, you might fall and break your neck.”
By Arrangement Page 4