Euphemia merely nodded, not feeling the same horror about the conversation that Grier was. It was a subject she had no reservations on speaking about.
“Because that blood means ye can bear a child,” she said. “Yer husband will stab ye with his fleshy sword, but the first time he does it, there will be some pain. Ye must be prepared for it, but don’t cry out. Don’t make a fuss. He’ll stab ye a few more times with it and then the fleshy sword spits right into yer womb. And then, in time, the bleeding will stop and a baby will come.”
It all sounded shocking and vulgar to Grier, and certainly something to be feared. In fact, she was quite repulsed by what she was told, but she was also grateful that at least someone was telling her what she should know. In all of the years she spent at St. Idloes, the subject had never been discussed because it was purely taboo. The ways of men and women were never brought up. Now, Grier knew why, and she had to wonder why women married at all if this was what they had to go through.
She was soon to find out for herself.
“I see,” she said, pondering the idea of spitting fleshy swords. “Thank you for telling me.”
Euphemia patted her on the shoulder. “Ye’ll do fine, lass,” she said. “Not to worry. Yer husband seems to be the kind sort, so I’m sure he’ll be careful with ye. Now, what dress do ye want to wear tonight?”
Off of one subject and on to another, so swiftly that the old woman had to ask twice before Grier could focus. Even as she selected the emerald silk, her mind was still on what she’d been told about the mating of a man and a woman. It sounded violent, messy, and painful.
She wasn’t looking forward to it.
As Euphemia finished dressing her, Grier’s thoughts were wrapped up in the situation in general and, truthfully, the future. She worried over what Dane would think of her, being as ignorant as she was about the ways of men and women, but she also worried about the scarring on her back that Euphemia had mentioned. Surely the man would find that extremely distasteful, so she knew she was going to have to make sure he couldn’t see it. She would simply lay on her back for whatever fleshy sword stabbing had to take place. It began to occur to her just how ignorant she really was when it came to the world at large.
But she was ready to learn.
She had to.
By the time she was dressed in the green silk, with her hair braided and pinned, the sun had set completely and the smells of the cooking fires wafted in through the arched windows. Euphemia was putting more perfumed oil on her shoulders, and it was then that Grier caught a glimpse of something shiny in the woman’s hand. When she turned to look to see what it was, Euphemia held it up in her face.
“There, now,” the old woman said with satisfaction. “Take a look at yerself, my lady.”
Grier found herself looking into a glass hand mirror, and the reflection she saw was the first time she’d ever seen a clear reflection of herself. Stunned, Grier slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp as pale skin, hazel eyes, and a sweet face came into view. Tears stung her eyes.
“That… that is me?” she asked hoarsely.
Euphemia smiled. “It ‘tis, love,” she said, touched at the girl’s reaction. “Do ye like it, then?”
Grier nodded, blinking away the tears. Then, she took the mirror from the old woman and just looked at herself, studying the lines of her face, the color of her hair. She’d never seen herself in such detail before and it was truly an astonishing moment.
“I… I have never seen myself like this,” she murmured, turning her head from side to side.
Euphemia watched her. “Ye’re a lovely lass,” she said with confidence. “Ye make a fine duchess.”
Grier’s hand moved from her mouth to her hair, touching it carefully. “Where did you learn to do this?”
Euphemia shrugged. “I know a thing or two about fine women,” she said. “I’ve seen them come through the inn and there were times when I helped them. Also, I have daughters, who are grown now. I used to tend them when they were younger.”
Grier turned to catch a glimpse of the hair net that was covering the braided bun at the nape of her neck. It was such a pivotal moment, in truth; having never really seen herself clearly, and having spent most of her life cold and dirty and clad in rough woolens, Grier had ceased to think of herself as a woman. Merely an oblate, meant for God, and that wasn’t a creature that was particularly womanly. But at this moment, she saw a woman before her.
Nay, a beautiful woman.
It was something she’d never imagined she would see, and for the first time in her life, Grier was caught up in her appearance. She was still looking at herself when there was a knock on the door and Euphemia went to answer it.
Dane stood in the doorway. With the burning torches in the corridor behind him, his big frame was silhouetted against the darkness as he stepped into the chamber. Immediately, his gaze found Grier, who was standing in the middle of the chamber with a mirror in her hand.
“Now,” he said, his voice full of quiet satisfaction, “you look like a duchess.”
Grier lowered the mirror and looked at him, a timid smile spreading across her lips. “Euphemia dressed my hair,” she said. “Do you like it?”
Dane was smiling as he stepped closer, getting a good look at her. “I do.”
She nodded, hand still to her hair. “I do.”
His smile grew. “When I found you at the abbey, you were like a rosebud,” he said. “You were small and pristine, but not yet unfurled. Now, the flower is blooming and I like it very much.”
Grier honestly had no idea what to say to him. She wasn’t any good with flattery, or sweet words, so she simply kept her mouth shut and smiled that embarrassed smile Dane was becoming familiar with. Seeing that she was tongue-tied, he laughed low in his throat and pulled her towards the door.
“Come along,” he said. “There is a fine feast waiting for you in the great hall. Your father’s men are anxious to meet the de Lara heiress.”
Grier’s good mood faded at the mention of her father. A fine moment spoiled as the subject of Garreth de Lara come forth. As Dane took her out into the corridor and towards the mural stairs that led to the floor below, she spoke softly.
“I do not know why they should be,” she said. “I am sure most of them did not even know there was an heiress.”
Her words were bitter. Given what Dane had heard earlier whilst she’d been in the chapel, he proceeded carefully. He’d been thinking about it all afternoon, even as he went about his duties and she rested after an arduous day.
At first, he thought he should simply leave well enough alone, hoping she would speak honestly of her feelings towards her father in time. But the more he thought on it, the more he thought it best to have her speak on her trouble with her father now rather than later. Keeping it suppressed wouldn’t be good for either of them, not when they were trying to establish a relationship left to them by the very man she hated. He didn’t want any secrets between them. That, more than anything, would bother him. He had told Grier in the beginning that all he would ever expect from her was honesty.
He meant it.
“It is possible,” he said after a moment. “It is unfortunate that you did not have a relationship with your father, but it is certainly not your doing. He sent you away quite young. I, however, did have a relationship with your father, as did his men, and he is much respected and admired here at Shrewsbury. The men want to respect and admire you also.”
They were nearly to the bottom of the stairs, with the entry spread out before them and the door that led outside. Oddly enough, for the size of the keep, it was a very small door, but quite elaborately carved, like the doors on the chapel.
But Grier wasn’t thinking about the doors as she came off the stairs. She was thinking about Dane’s comment and wondering just how much she should say about it. After her outburst that afternoon in the privacy of the dim chapel, she felt somewhat better, but bringing her father up again and again woul
d only reopen old wounds. She was coming to think that if Dane knew of her true feelings towards her father, then perhaps he would not speak of the man so often.
Perhaps, he would give her a chance to forget about him again.
“You have expressed to me that all you expect from me is honesty,” she said. They reached the entry door and she came to a halt, facing him. “Then mayhap, I should be honest with you about my feelings for my father. I have told you that I did not know him. He cast me off like an unwanted shoe, sending a very small girl to live with strangers at a convent. I will be honest with you, then, and tell you that I hold a great deal of resentment towards my father. It is something I have pushed aside, and forgotten even, but returning to Shrewsbury this morning brought it all back. I do not know what kind of man you knew as my father, but I only knew cruelty and neglect. That does not make me fond of him, so if men want to speak of their fondness and respect for my father, I would prefer they not speak it to me.”
Dane was deeply pleased that she had enough faith in him to tell him the truth. He was pleased that she hadn’t tried to skirt the issue or, worse, lie about it because she thought that was what he wanted to hear. A bond of trust was building between them already, something he’d hoped for but hadn’t really expected, at least not so soon.
“Thank you for telling me the truth of the matter,” he said quietly. “I will do my best to ensure no man offends you with his fondness for your father, but you know that will be difficult. They do not know the man from your perspective.”
Grier was rather relieved that he didn’t become angry at her for her opinion. “I realize that,” she said. “I am coming to understand that my father treated his men far better than his own flesh and blood.”
Dane couldn’t disagree with her and he wasn’t unsympathetic. “And for that, I am sorry,” he said. “Though I cannot change the past, I will promise you that the future will not be so bleak. I will do all I can to make sure of it. But your father’s men… you will have to be tolerant. They do not know what you know, and it would be best, for the sake of morale, that you did not tell them. I fear it will only upset and confuse them, and it might even make them less than willing to be loyal to a duchess who speaks poorly of her father.”
Grier nodded. “I understand,” she said. “I have been concerned for that very thing. My thoughts on my father are my own. But do not expect me to weep at his grave.”
Dane simply lifted his eyebrows, a gesture of understanding and agreement, and Grier felt that he, at least, respected her position. He didn’t try to talk her into reforming it. Extending his elbow to her, he did not have to prompt her this time to take it. She did it without hesitation and held it tightly.
There was confidence in that grip.
Together, they headed out into the dark English night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“The Shrewsbury party arrived earlier in the day, Davies.” A man with shaggy dark hair, wrapped up in a dirty brown cloak, had slipped into the doorway near the city gates where Davies and a few of his men were lingering. “They came right up through town from this very gate and into the castle.”
“And the lady?” Davies asked.
“She was sighted.”
Even though Davies knew that would be the case, still, it was difficult to hear. The woman he loved, the one he’d wanted to marry, was now married to another. He looked at the faces of the four men with him, his teulu, or the personal guard of a Welsh lord. They were with him for better or for worse and, in this case, they were with him on a very large undertaking.
On the ride to Shrewsbury, he’d had time to think. Davies had told Eolande that their people were starving and, perhaps, Shrewsbury might be the only source of food for them. But Eolande had seen through his farce; she knew that he was going to Shrewsbury to wreak havoc upon the new duke, the one who had married Grier and take her away from him. Perhaps that was the truth, but Davies wouldn’t admit it to his little sister. She’d been right, in every way.
Now, all Davies could think about was that the woman he loved had been married to the man for two days. Two long days for the man to do anything he wanted to her. Even now, as night fell on the second day, Davies was crushed to think that Grier would be warming the bed of the man she married.
Davies should have been that man.
He’d tried to lie to Eolande about his true purpose in going to Shrewsbury, but she had known his heart. She’d known why he intended to roust the town, but she didn’t know all of it. Perhaps, he hadn’t even known all of it himself until the ride to Shrewsbury. During that ride, with his heart full of hurt and anger, Davies had made plans.
Plans to kill Grier’s new husband.
And now, here he was, ready to carry out those plans. He’d brought men with him from Godor, a gang of at least fifty Welshmen, all ready and willing to carry out his commands. They were gathered outside of the walls, in the forests in the distance, awaiting Davies’ command, but for them, it was a different purpose. Davies had given them permission to raid for food and valuables. They thought they were here only for that, which was why they’d come so eagerly when summoned late last night.
Only Davies was here to kill.
Only his teulu knew the truth.
“So, she is here,” Davies said, his eyes moving about in the darkness to make sure no one was listening. “When the gates open before dawn, we shall summon our men and we shall ride straight into the market. That will bring out Shrewsbury’s army.”
Davies’ teulu glanced at each other nervously; these were not the fighters their ancestors had been. There hadn’t been the need. With an uneasy peace between England and Wales for so many years, men weren’t particularly bred these days to battle against armored knights. Many of them had become farmers and tradesmen. There was a warrior class, but it was small and not particularly well armed but for their spears and crossbows. They had horses that were swift, however, and in that swiftness was their saving grace. The heavily-armored war horses of the Saesneg didn’t move quickly, and that was what they would be up against.
But a full-blown raid into a major city along the Marches? They were fairly certain Davies had lost his mind.
“There will be soldiers on the southern gate, Davies.” A man named Efor spoke quietly. Dressed in a dark green woolen cloak, he had it pulled tightly around him to ward off the evening’s chill. “They will close the gates before we can escape!”
Davies shook his head. “We have the best archers in all the land,” he said. “We will position them so they can take out the sentries at the gatehouse, but we must leave quickly before the gates close for the night. Come, now, we have little time to waste.”
The five of them moved from the shadowed doorway and out into the street, with the last strains of the day fading overhead. They’d spent most of the day scouting out the city, finding the marketplace, locating the gates, and now that their reconnaissance was finished, it was imperative they make it back to the men waiting in the distant trees.
A mist was beginning to fall as the sun went down, filling the streets and creating more of a shield for their escape from the city. Citizens were coming out to light the street torches for the night, to illuminate the darkness, and the last few travelers were coming in through the open gate for the night just as Davies and his men slipped out. The sentries on duty were too busy worrying about who was coming in to pay any attention to who was going out.
In the darkness, they slipped away into the trees and towards the Welsh who were bundled up in their woolens against the night, since a fire would have alerted those on night watch to their presence. No fires, no warm food, only cold and damp, as men waited for dawn to come so they could charge in and take what food they could before the castle was alerted. As they sat in the darkness and clung to each other for warmth, it was all they could speak of.
Soon, their bellies would be full.
If Davies felt any guilt in using his men’s hunger to suit his own purposes, he re
fused to acknowledge it. For him, he was doing what needed to be done. With the old duke dead and, hopefully, the new duke soon to follow, he would go to Shrewsbury and propose marriage yet again to Grier, now a lone woman in charge of a vast empire. He didn’t care about the empire so much as he did for the lady. It was her he wanted; the Shrewsbury entitlement was secondary, but it was one that would make his spineless father rather happy.
In the end, Davies would have what he wanted, and his father would have what he wanted.
Tomorrow would be the day.
CHAPTER NINE
“You are as weak as a woman!” William cried, trying to wrestle Boden to the ground with one arm. “A Wellesbourne can always beat a de Russe!”
Boden grunted, both in effort and in pain. “Only you would think so,” he said. “I will show you otherwise.”
With that, they doubled their efforts, each man trying to send the other to the ground. There was a great deal of gambling and drinking and shouting going on inside the great hall of Shrewsbury this night, a massive place with an enormous pitched ceiling, two stories tall, with a roof covered in thatching.
Nights here were usually the same. There was a vast open firepit in the middle of the hall, almost always with a roaring fire in it, and the smoke went up into the soaring roof, finding an outlet in the many holes that were in the eaves for that very purpose. The hall had been built in the Saxon fashion three hundred years earlier, and the building was still holding up quite nicely. As always, it was full of food and drink, and men having a good time.
Tonight was no exception.
William was seriously trying to break Boden’s arm as Dastan and Syler stood by and watched. Charlisa was on the dais, speaking to her young cousin who happened to be Syler’s sister.
Charlisa’s father and Syler’s father were brothers, and two months ago, Syler’s youngest sister had arrived to serve Charlisa and learn something of the world. She was a little old to foster at fifteen years of age, but Charlisa was happy to take the girl under her wing. Young Laria de Poyer had the dark de Poyer eyes and a head full of curly dark hair. She was a pretty girl, but a little silly, something Charlisa suffered from as well, and she only had eyes for William Wellesbourne.
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 11