As soon as that? Her heart began to thump uncomfortably and he could not avoid noting the dawning alarm mirrored in her eyes.
“If your father should die,” he said deliberately and put up a hand to prevent her from crying out in horror and interrupting him. “I did not imply there was any likelihood of that. He is making good progress, Joshua informs me, but he has been over-hot today and unduly restless. He himself is not unaware of the dangers of infection from his wound and is anxious to make absolutely sure of your safety. If anything were to happen before we are formally betrothed or bedded, you would become a ward of court and matters would be delayed. I am sure the King would give his consent to our marriage, but for a time you could be at risk, an heiress ripe for the plucking. Your father knows that, and has agreed to our hasty marriage because of it.”
Bleakly she reviewed the situation. Yes, she had realised only too well that she could become prey to some creature such as Mauger of Offen. It had happened to many maids and widows during these uncertain days of the war. She looked back at Baron Alain de Treville directly. She had doubts concerning this marriage, but not the terrible fear that would assail her if faced by a forced alliance with some ruthless mercenary.
She bowed her head in mute acceptance of the common sense of his words. “As you wish, my lord.”
She rose and made for the curtained doorway, thinking, now, that they had finished with this distasteful business, but he had come very close to her and, with a hand upon her shoulder, turned her gently but firmly to face him.
“Am I not entitled to the customary kiss to seal our betrothal?”
He was so very close and she could smell the maleness of him, the clean tang of soap and the hint of leather and the oil he used for cleaning armour. She knew, instinctively, that he had bathed just before descending to the hall. Even his dark hair was damp from bathing. His breath was faintly wine-scented but not overpoweringly so.
She felt trapped and longed to protest, turn and run, but knew that would be both foolish and useless. She was to become his bride—and soon. It was pointless to refuse him the promise of greater rights soon to come.
He drew her close, his arms reaching up behind her waist, pressing her to him. She had expected him to kiss her brow or cheek formally, but his lips suddenly closed upon hers, gently at first, then demandingly, so that she was forced to open her own and respond. Her head swam as she felt his hard-muscled body, so hard against hers, and she could both feel and hear the steady beat of his heart, which quickened even as her lips received his.
She had been kissed only once before this by any man other than her father. Kenrick had kissed her in the wood and she remembered, guiltily, that she had been vaguely disappointed. Now she was not sure how she felt about this. Certainly she was not disappointed, was disturbed by her own response, even alarmed. She sought to pull away and after a moment he released her gently and stood regarding her, his head slightly on one side.
“You must not be afraid of me.”
“I am not,” she said huskily. “I—”
“Good. I shall not expect too much of you—at first.”
Hot colour was flooding her cheeks and throat. She tried to move back from him and he reached out and caught her wrist again.
“I shall ask Father John to hear our betrothal vows tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she said hurriedly, “if my father agrees.”
She managed to make her escape then and found Aldith’s frankly curious eyes upon her as she made her way quickly up the spiral stair to her own chamber. Aldith made no attempt to question her and as she lay sleepless, her mind went over and over the events of the day.
Her rejection by Lady Eadgyth had been devastating and then the meeting with that creature, Mauger—she shuddered at the recollection. Then her final surrender to her father’s will, and finally there had been her objection to the Baron’s summary treatment of Oswin and his unexpectedly furious response to her behaviour.
She had had a distinct reminder there, in the office, of what life would be like for her—she would be mistress of Allestone, but still Alain de Treville’s chattel, and fury rose in her throat like bile. Then he had kissed her and her response to that kiss had been overwhelmingly sudden and frightening. Though she had immediately sought to withdraw from close contact with him, her traitorous body had wanted to remain in his arms.
She remembered the moment when he had held her after his rescue of her at Brinkhurst. She had felt so safe and secure then, so assured of his complete protection. She was confused. One moment she was castigating him as a tyrant in his own household and afraid of his threatened domination over her, the next she was grateful for his nearness, as she had been when Mauger of Offen’s eyes had dwelt upon her so insultingly.
Not for one moment had she been afraid then, since Alain de Treville had been with her. She had hated and despised the flamboyant knight and recognised instantly the naked desire that had flamed in his eyes. She knew that the kiss had awakened Alain de Treville’s desire but he had put her from him, had not continued to press unwelcome attention upon her.
The difference between the two men, she was sure, was not the depth of passion but the amount of control that each exerted upon his own desires. Mauger of Offen would make no fight against his carnal needs; Alain de Treville would hold himself under restraint until he felt the time was ripe to possess what was his. She sighed as she sank back against the pillows. That time was very close now.
Her father appeared less restless next day and the Jewish physician assured her that he was now less concerned about his patient’s condition. Sir Walter was relieved when Gisela expressed herself satisfied with both the marriage contract and the arrangements for the ceremony, set for two days before Christmas.
When Father John arrived from the village, Gisela had stood docilely in her father’s chamber beside Alain de Treville and they exchanged their betrothal vows. She felt a tremor pass through her as the Baron placed his heavy signet ring upon her finger, the outward symbol of his possession of her.
Over the days that followed she tried not to think of her looming marriage day—or what would follow. When Aldith had sought to prepare her, she had hastily cut off the approach and Aldith had been silenced.
She set herself to take stock of the interior of the castle as its future chatelaine. The autumn slaughter had been completed and the meat salted down and stored in barrels within the commodious cellars beneath the keep, apples and pears gathered in, sorted and stored carefully, soft fruit preserved in honey in jars sealed with hogs’ fat. Rushlights and candles were being prepared for the dark days of winter ahead.
She had inspected the well in the bailey and saw with relief that water was drawn daily and stored in barrels within the keep in case of siege. Lord Alain informed her that one of his projected tasks was to have a well dug beneath the keep itself and she understood his concern. A month ago she would have derided such panicky plans, as she had his clearance of the land around the castle. Now, dry-mouthed, she was only too aware of the urgency.
Once or twice she rode over to Brinkhurst with Lord Alain to see that repairs were in progress and was finally relieved to see Oswin once more back at his work in the manor house.
Lord Alain said coolly, “It appears he took shelter with his friend, one of the woodsmen. I can find no evidence to suggest complicity with the attackers, but I have pointed out to him the necessity of total dedication to the needs of your father. I do not think he will prove negligent again.”
She had watched her betrothed closely over this short time of freedom left to her and tried to make a fair assessment of his character. She had considered him stern and austere, but found this was not entirely correct.
True, he was hard on his men, insisting on excellent discipline within the ranks. The men were forbidden to molest the women within the villages nearby, or to swagger and annoy through overindulgence in drink, but she saw that these hard-bitten men held Lord Alain in grudging respect.
Even Sigurd succumbed to a sulky acceptance of his control, though Gisela understood he was still yearning for the old freedom of movement he had formerly had.
One evening she sat in the hall with Aldith and Lady Rohese, the buxom, pretty, brown-haired wife of Sir Clement, the castle seneschal. Gisela had been afraid that this lady would resent her as the new chatelaine-to-be but found Rohese to be good-natured and easygoing, perhaps far too much so with the household servants, who were inclined to be slack unless they came under the frowning countenance of their lord.
Lady Rohese smilingly requested that Huon, who was sitting near, should play the lute to entertain them as they sat stitching at a new wallhanging for the hall.
Huon instantly complied, lifted his instrument from a nail on the wall near the hearth and began to strum and sing in a pleasing tenor voice. He sang one of the troubadour songs Gisela loved and she paused in her work, listening to him.
Lord Alain strode into the hall. He had obviously been riding on desmesne business for he still wore his mail hauberk and coif and had missed supper in hall. He stood listening to his squire; Gisela noted that, after a while, the stern expression faded from his face and he drew up a stool and sat with them.
At the close of the song Huon looked up at him questioningly and Lord Alain reached out and took the beribboned instrument from the boy’s hand. He strummed experimentally for a moment or two, then struck up a merry tune he had obviously heard in one of the English villages on campaign. His voice was a rich baritone and his playing accomplished. He finished with a swirl of fingers across the strings and grinned at his rapt feminine audience.
“Please sing us one of your Norman songs, my lord,” Rohese begged.
Lord Alain looked towards Gisela as if asking for her encouragement and she nodded her head, blushing rosily.
He sang, as Huon had, one of the ballads of heroic deeds then, suddenly, with a jangling chord, changed rhythms and began to sing a hauntingly romantic song of Provence, of a handsome young knight betrayed by his lady, of his desperate love for her and his death in battle in deep despair when she married another. Gisela was transfixed.
She had never known her betrothed in this mood and could not take her eyes from his blunt, skilful fingers on the strings. She knew his powerful, melodious voice would live in her memory—she had not heard a professional jongleur who had pleased her more. Her own fingers lay idle on her work and her mouth parted a little as she listened. Hereward stirred at her feet and she hushed him hastily with a gentling hand on his collar.
Lord Alain finished and rose, handing back the lute to Huon.
“You must excuse me, mesdames, I have not yet eaten and must retire to my chamber.” He bowed and left them.
Gisela sat on, thoughtful, and Lady Rohese glanced at her curiously. “He is accomplished, is he not? I suppose he learned those skills as a page in France.”
Gisela nodded, swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat at the beauty of the music.
Huon said, laughing, “All pages learn to entertain, but few are as accomplished as my lord, and, of course, he is passionately fond of music. He likes to read the troubadour tales too.”
The boy hurried up to his lord’s chamber and Gisela was left to wonder. It seemed that Lord Alain had another side to his nature she had not guessed at.
The next day Aldith broached the matter of Gisela’s bridal gown.
Gisela dismissed it. “Oh, any of my gowns will do, Aldith. I have several I have worn only once or twice, quite fine enough.”
Aldith put her hands on her hips. “Mistress, you must not disgrace Lord Alain. He is a baron, an important man in the shire and there will be many curious eyes on both of you at this wedding.”
Gisela pursed her lips then sighed. “I suppose you are right,” she said grudgingly. “I must seem to go willingly to this sacrificial altar.”
Aldith snorted and Gisela could not help giving a little embarrassed laugh.
In Gisela’s clothing chest they discovered a length of white samite, which, worn with a warm undertunic, for the chill in the village church was likely to permeate the cloth, would prove fine enough. Aldith cut and sewed and produced a gown to be proud of, close fitting in bodice and to the hips, its hem and long, flowing sleeves bordered with marten fur.
Gisela was to wear with it a long double girdle of white and gold ribbons, plaited together and tasselled at the ends, which were long enough to reach to the hem. Aldith fashioned for her a simple fillet of gold and white silk, also plaited, which she would place over her loosened hair and she would wear the reliquary Lord Alain had rescued for her from the looter.
When attired in her bridal finery for the first time, Gisela twirled for Aldith’s approval and her attendant nodded, satisfied. “We must look out your warm fur-lined tawny-velvet mantle for it’s bound to be cold in the church and possibly in the hall afterwards, despite the fire in the hearth.”
Gisela agreed. She had no intention of shivering with cold at this wedding and the feast to follow, which could be interpreted by onlookers as fear of her wedding-night duties.
Alain de Treville stood before the crude little altar in Allestone church, awaiting his bride on his wedding day. He, too, had been persuaded to dress with some attention to current fashion, for such frivolity had always been seen by him as unnecessary. Despite the new style Normans now affected in wearing their hair longer, he continued to wear his close clipped and on most occasions wore his serviceable tunics or mail.
Today he wore a long tunic of blue damask cloth from the East, shot with silver thread, over a longer undertunic of unbleached fine wool. The neck and sleeves of his over-tunic were bordered with strips of cloth of silver and the neckties were of silver cord ending in tassels. Over this he wore a fine wool mantle in blue, lined with cloth of silver, caught at the shoulder with an ornamental silver brooch, which bore in its centre a polished round of bright blue opaque stone his brother had informed him was lapis lazuli.
Odo had been on Crusade and had purchased several trinkets in Jaffa as gifts for the family. He had surprised Alain by sending this brooch and the damask and cloth of silver with his congratulations, following the receipt of the news that Alain had been granted the lordship of Allestone.
His older brother had jocularly remarked in the letter that had accompanied the gifts—penned by a clerk, for unlike Alain Odo had never bothered himself to acquire the writing skill—that he hoped both cloth and pin would prove useful when Alain found himself a bride, which he prayed would be soon.
The gifts had been consigned to a chest within Alain’s chamber, but a week ago Alain had found a tailor in Oakham willing to make up both tunic and mantle for him in haste. This morning he had gazed at his hazy reflection in his scratched iron shaving-mirror and wondered if he were making a fool of himself, parading like a peacock before an unwilling bride.
A movement behind him informed him that his bride had entered the church and he turned hastily to watch her approach the altar. Sir Walter had made the journey from Allestone in a covered carriage and had been carried to a chair placed near the altar.
Alain’s heart gave a sudden jolt of combined joy and desire as he gazed at Gisela. Never had she appeared more beautiful and it appeared she had gone to some trouble to honour him in her becoming apparel.
Her tawny mantle had been flung back over one shoulder so Alain could see how the silky cloth, cinched in tightly by the girdle, clung to her high, firm breasts and the altar candles glimmered on the gold of her heavy masses of hair that fell loose below her waist, putting to shame the gold braid of her fillet.
She walked superbly and there was no trace of either nervousness or artificial modesty that some women used as an aid to coquetry. Her blue eyes met his directly and her lips parted in a half-smile as she slipped her hand within her father’s on reaching his side.
She made her vows clearly and distinctly as he had expected. Her small hand trembled a little as he placed his marriage ring in pl
ace and Father John bound their wrists together with the folds of his silken stole and pronounced them one flesh. Her lips were cool under his as he sealed their union with the customary kiss, then her hand was in his and he led her out of the church to the porch to be greeted by rousing cheers from the assembled villagers.
He sat beside her proudly at the high table above the salt and looked down with pleasure at the revellers below, the assembled knights and squires of the shire who had come to wish him good fortune. Sir Walter looked a trifle flushed, but happy now that this was finally concluded and Gisela was truly the baron’s bride. He received congratulations from all around him—his daughter had won the hand of the most influential lord in the shire, an intimate of the King himself.
As he looked across at her, seated at Lord Alain’s side, he experienced mingled emotions of satisfaction and concern. She looked calm enough but pale and abstracted. His heart misgave him and he gave a little inward prayer that he had made the right decision in her best interest.
Lord Alain leaned towards his wife. “You are eating little and drinking less. Our cook has done us proud.” He glanced, gratified, at the groaning board set before them upon pristine white drapery. “You are not unwell?”
“No, I am just—” she gave a little rueful moue “—excited by all this.”
“I cannot find words to tell you how much I appreciate your choice of wedding garments. You have never looked lovelier.”
“You must thank Aldith for her skill,” she said. “She insisted I must do you great honour before all your guests. This is a joyous occasion.”
“And you cannot find it so?” he murmured.
She flushed and her lips trembled. “It is difficult for me, strange, as it must be for all new brides.” But she was soon smiling at the antics of an acrobat, from some troupe that had arrived in Oakham for the festive season, who had been persuaded into service at the castle feast with the promise of a very generous reward.
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