Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

Retracing his steps the way he and the steward had come, Christian found himself standing within the great hall. More of the servants’ efficient work was on display there—clean, well-set tables, fresh rushes on the floor, an orderly pattern to those working to prepare the room and the meal. Excitement filled the very air surrounding him and he knew from the covert glances and whispered words, and from the feeling deep in his gut, that he was the center of what was to come.

Looking around the perimeter of the room, he sought the location of the solar. A young woman approached him, curtsying before him.

“Milord? Are you in need of help?” Her eyes met his but once before she lowered her glance to the floor.

“Oui,” he answered. Her gaze met his and then she dropped her head once more. Damn, but he needed to remember to speak in their tongue. He expected the English nobles to speak in French, but the servants and villeins would converse only in their harsh guttural language. “Yes,” he repeated, “show me to the solar.”

She curtsied once more and took a few backward steps before turning and walking in front of him. Her hips swayed in the suggestive motion that proclaimed her an available wench as she made her way through the great hall. From the peeking glances and smiles she offered over her shoulder, he understood the invitation she gave. Smiling grimly, he shook his head at the irony of this situation. On another day, his body would have reacted by this point, stirring his interest and firing his desires. On another day, in another lifetime, he would have accepted her welcoming actions and met her later for a pleasant rendezvous. However, his current physical condition and the unknown fate that stood before him kept him from responding.

Soon they approached a door set back in a stone alcove. From the two heavily armed guards next to the doorway, he knew the queen was within. The servant turned to him once more and curtsied. This time she blatantly met his gaze and smiled seductively, making her offer clear to even a blind man. Not willing to completely refuse the girl, he asked her name. ’Twould be better to have it if needed later than have to stumble through descriptions to locate her.

“Lyssa, milord. Call on me if you have need,” she answered in a quiet whisper. From the snickers of the guards, she obviously had helped many of the men in the keep with their needs.

“Return to your duties anon. I will summon you if I have need.” Christian waved her off and turned to the door. He knocked and waited for an invitation to enter. Hearing her voice through the door, he took a deep breath, turned the knob and prepared to face the queen.

Christian was not deceived by the old woman before him. Although in her eighth decade of life and with an appearance that matched her age, Eleanor was not someone to underestimate. For more than half a century, she had moved through their world much in the same manner as a man and gathered power and riches, even husbands, to herself as she did. This woman had done the unthinkable and accompanied her first husband on a holy crusade. He moved toward her and stopped, kneeling before her.

“Your Grace,” he said, taking and kissing her hand. He waited for her signal to rise and, when given, he looked into her face and smiled. “You look well.”

“Ah, Christian. It is as though I were looking into your dear mother’s eyes. I miss her. I miss the wise counsel and the humor that saw me through many low spots in my life.”

His mother was a safe subject since her passing was unrelated to his father’s treachery. And she had spent many years as the confidante of the queen.

“And I know that she valued the time she served you, Your Grace.”

Eleanor dropped her hand and sat down once more in the chair behind her. ’Twas then he noticed the other woman in the room. Assuming it was one of the queen’s attendants, he continued his conversation with Eleanor.

“The king has called on me to serve you in some way, Your Grace. He did not disclose the details to me, only said that I was to carry out your wishes. Can you enlighten me about these duties?”

A soft snicker pulled his attention from the queen to her attendant once more. Passing his gaze over her from head to toe, he glared at her discourtesy. He was, after all, now restored to his name, his estates, his honor, and as a count he deserved a certain level of respect from even those who served the queen.

“Richard and I,” Eleanor began, “wish to protect this demesne since it belonged to a dear and loyal friend of our family. His untimely death has left it in a precarious situation and a temptation to those who would steal all it has to offer. Richard wishes that you serve as its protector and as the husband of the Countess of Harbridge.”

He shook his head and blinked at her pronouncement. Protector and husband? Husband?

“But Your Grace, I am betrothed to—”

She cut off his words with a wave of her hand. “Necessarily ended months ago. You are free, in the eyes of the Church, to wed as Richard desires. And you have pledged your loyalty to him?”

He had agreed and signed his deal with the devil. And here was the cost of it. This seemed too good to be true. What hardship was there in marrying an heiress and taking control of her estate? It was his destiny as a nobleman and eldest son to do just that. Although he had thought to marry the daughter of the neighboring count, this prosperous land would be a fine replacement for that one. And there was still Geoffrey. He could marry that French heiress and add it to their family’s properties.

“I have pledged to Richard, as you know.”

“Then you will wed the countess in the morning.”

“Will I meet her prior to the wedding? Do we not have to go through a betrothal ceremony?” This was happening too quickly. And where was the countess? Did she know of these arrangements? Ah, certainement. The preparations in the hall bespoke of ceremonies and celebrations.

“The betrothal was carried out before you left Anjou. Your signature is on the necessary papers.” Eleanor pointed to a table nearby and the parchments on it. He could see both his signature and the one scrawled by the king. He smiled and nodded. Check and mate. He was now firmly entrenched in whatever games the Plantagenets were playing. “However, so that no question can arise, the agreements will be read tonight before all.”

“And the banns?” No one could wed without the announcement of the impending nuptials being made for three consecutive Sundays.

“Waived,” Eleanor said, “by Ely.”

Deeper and deeper he could feel himself being pulled into this. And the icy tremors moving up his spine told him that there was more, much more, to this than he was being told. Why was the countess unmarried? If of marriageable age, her father should have made arrangements long ago. An untimely death? Obviously, a lack of forethought and planning, as well, if his daughter was unmarried and his property unprotected.

“’Twould seem that you have taken care of all that needs arranging, Your Grace. You have my thanks.” He bowed slightly to her. “And the countess? How does she stand on this matter?”

“She will behave as an honorable woman does—she will make her vows to you and then carry out the duties of a wife and, God willing, a mother. Believe you me, she understands her place in this completely. You will be formally presented to each other at dinner. If you are ready, you may escort me there now.”

He heard the way she accented the word “honorable” in her description of his betrothed. Mayhap because his own honor had been lately restored, he was simply sensitive to it. Or was this some information about the countess? But then honor was the basis for all relationships—marriage as well as fealty and even war. Without his honor, a nobleman had nothing. Knowing this introspection would come to nothing, he looked at Eleanor.