Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

Cecily.

His heart pounded. She’d been pretty in a novice’s habit, more than pretty in her sister’s blue dress, but now—wearing that garnet-coloured gown…It fitted—it actually fitted her like a second skin—and she was a princess. Her golden hair hung in two loose braids over her breasts, and a light veil fluttered behind her as she walked across the grass. A princess.

Matty and Gudrun were at her train, wreathed in smiles: Gudrun was holding her firstborn and Matty was carrying the sleeping baby. Thank God for those smiles, Adam thought, for they prove that not every Saxon in Fulford is set against this marriage.

The garnet gown had been laced to accentuate Cecily’s slim waist and the curve of her bosom. That bright fall of hair reached beyond her knees. She was the very image of feminine beauty, delicate, soft. Was she really to be his? Adam’s mouth went dry. His Gwenn had been darkly pretty, and he had loved her deeply, but her beauty had never filled him with this desperate, almost frantic longing.

Gwenn had always been his sweetheart—they had loved each other for ever, and he had not been afraid to touch her—but Cecily’s fragile beauty, her innocence, her Saxon upbringing—how could he hope to win her heart?

As she came along the gravel path towards him their eyes met. She smiled—a nervous smile, as though uncertain of her reception. Aware that he was gawping like a moonstruck boy, Adam swallowed and held out his hand.

‘Lose that frown, man,’ Richard muttered. ‘It would curdle milk.’

Adam smiled.

And then she was at his side, her fingers warm in his. She peeped up at him from under her lashes and her face lost that nervous look. Rosemary—he caught the scent of rosemary. She was carrying a posy. Rosemary and bay and dried lavender, tied with the same cream ribbon that adorned the wedding arch.

‘Sir Adam,’ she said, curtseying low before him.

That wayward blonde curl had worked its way loose. His smile deepening, he raised her and kissed the back of her hand. ‘Lady Cecily.’

He nodded at Richard, who rapped on the church door with the hilt of his sword.

Father Aelfric stepped out, gold thread glinting on his vestments. ‘You are ready, my children?’ he asked.

Adam looked at Cecily, and drew comfort and support from the acceptance he read in her eyes. He nodded at Father Aelfric, and as one they stepped under the wedding arch. ‘We are. You may proceed.’

‘Gudrun, go away!’ Cecily said later that night, as she laughingly tried to evade the housekeeper’s hands. ‘And you too, Matty. I don’t need either of you!’

The three women were in the loft room. Braziers glowed softly through the dark and candles flickered on the nightstands. On one of the coffers a tray had been set, with a jug of mulled wine, two clay goblets, and a plate of almond cakes. The wine steamed gently, filling the room with the exotic scent of imported spices—cinnamon and cloves from the east.

The rhythmic throb of music filled the Hall below, where Harold and Carl were entertaining the company with drums, accompanied at one moment by Wat on his flute and at another by Sir Richard on his lute. As mead jars and wine flasks had emptied, the boys’ drumrolls had become wilder. Laughter had become more general, and a couple of times Cecily had seen some of Adam’s troopers making efforts to converse with one or other of the villagers without being rebuffed. Peace might not be quite the mad dream that Edmund thought it.

Deciding it was high time she retired, Cecily had excused herself from her husband’s side, and had run the gauntlet of so many meaningful winks and sly remarks that her ears had burned. Everyone had seemed determined to embarrass her, villagers and troopers alike.

Now she glared at her two bridesmaids. They were as intent on disrobing her as she was intent on remaining robed. ‘Go away!’ Didn’t they understand? Circumstances might have forced her to marry someone who was practically a stranger, but she could not, would not, greet Adam Wymark unclothed—even if it was their wedding night.

As a particularly extravagant drumroll and a shout of laughter reverberated round the mead hall, she nipped behind one of the braziers. ‘I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself!’ The warmth of the brazier touched her face and neck, and her veil fluttered dangerously close to the glowing embers. She twitched it aside. ‘I would like some privacy. Go away!’

Deaf to her pleas, Gudrun grinned at Matty. ‘You go left, and I’ll go right.’

Cecily made a dash for the gap between brazier and bed, but Matty second-guessed her and crashed into her. In the tussle, they both toppled onto the bed.

‘Got you!’ Matty’s breath was honeyed with mead. ‘Got you!’

Torn between dismay and laughter, Cecily tried to wriggle free, but by then Gudrun was upon them, and in a trice the three of them were rolling around the bed, crushing dried rose petals into the bedcover. Rose petals? Where had they found rose petals at this time of year? And when had they had time to strew the bedcover with them?

‘Get off, Gudrun, for pity’s sake,’ Cecily got out with a choked laugh. ‘It’s like having a sack of flour on top of me.’

An unholy light flashed into Gudrun’s eyes, and Cecily saw that she was about to be on the receiving end of another lewd comment when the door swung open. Candles guttered and the noise from the Hall seemed to rise.

Adam. He had paused, hand on the door-latch, surveying the three of them with a crooked smile. A dark eyebrow lifted and his smile widened.

Cecily shot into an upright position, fumbling to straighten her veil. Matty and Gudrun jumped off the bed, hastily plumping the pillows, smoothing the covers.

‘Sir Adam?’ Cecily said, with as much dignity as could be expected from a noble lady caught romping on the bed with her maid and the family housekeeper.

He closed the door, muting the sounds of the revels, and came towards her. ‘I thought you were tired.’

‘Tired? Oh…y-yes. I was just g-getting ready…’

Matty giggled, Gudrun made a choking sound, and Cecily wished with all her heart that she had insisted on Gudrun explaining the intimate duties of a new bride.

Her mouth was dry. There Adam stood—tall and achingly handsome, with his dark hair gleaming in the candlelight and a smile in those green eyes. If she was to secure her place as his wife and stay near her brother she must ensure that the marriage was consummated. If it was not consummated, she could be set aside. She swallowed. It would help if she knew a little more about the physical aspects of marriage…

Adam tucked his thumbs into his belt, feeling as out of place in his bedroom as it was possible for a man to be on his wedding day. Her face had been alight with laughter, but the moment he’d come into the room the laughter had vanished. And there she was, blinking up at him like an owl from the bed. From their bed. Her hands were shaking. Her wedding ring glinted in the candlelight with every tremor.

He smiled pointedly at Matty and Gudrun. ‘My thanks,’ he said firmly. ‘We can manage on our own.’

‘But, sir,’ Gudrun said, ‘we’re her bridesmaids. We should disrobe—’

‘You have been fine bridesmaids.’ Dipping into his pouch, Adam handed them each a silver penny. ‘Our thanks to you both.’ He sent Gudrun another direct look and searched for the right English words. ‘Your babe—Philip—is crying.’

Gudrun opened her mouth to reply, but Matty caught her by the sleeve and gave a swift headshake. She towed Gudrun to the door.

Watching them go, Adam tipped his head to one side and said softly, ‘Odd, don’t you think, the way she has given that baby a Norman name?’