Anne O'Brien - Marriage Under Siege

Thus he presided over the marriage of Francis Brampton, Lord Mansell, and Honoria Mansell, previously Honoria Ingram, ably supported by Sir Joshua Hopton and his lively sister Mary. Given the depth of cold in the church, all the participants were well shrouded in cloaks, but it could be noticed by anyone sufficiently interested in so trivial a matter that the bride, in spite of her recent bereavement, did not wear black. It was indeed noticed and approved with a wry twist of the lips.

The service was brief and stark, the ceremonial kiss a mere cold and formal meeting of lips. Honoria found it hard to cling to reality, even as she tried to concentrate on the Reverend Gower’s reluctant blessing. Only the firm clasp of Mansell’s hand on hers kept her anchored to the fact that she was once more a bride.

The bridal party returned to the Great Hall of the castle to some semblance of festivities. The servants and the tenants of the cottages of Brampton Percy had been invited and so were present in force to enjoy the food and wish their lord and lady well. Ale, far superior to Lord Edward’s dwindling casks and brought from Ludlow under Sir Joshua’s escort, flowed freely and some local musicians had been hired to lighten the atmosphere with shawms and drums.

Honoria too had been busy, with Master Foxton’s willing help. The Hall had been restored to glory: vast logs set for a fire that would do justice to the size and height of the room, furniture arranged and more screens unearthed from the cellars to do battle against the draughts. It was a more cheerful occasion than the burial the previous week and, although it was not graced by any of the county families, it was thought by all present to be most satisfactory. And not least by Lord Mansell. Under the influence of ale and music the natural reticence of the tenants soon wore off, giving their new lord a useful opportunity to further his acquaintance and put names to faces.

‘So you have indeed married the widow!’ Catching him in a quiet moment, Sir Joshua raised his tankard in a silent toast to his friend and host. ‘I will not ask you if you know what you are doing.’

‘Tactful at last, Josh?’

‘No. You must have had your reasons.’ He grinned disarmingly. ‘Does your lady realise that your views are diametrically opposed in relation to our esteemed monarch?’

‘She does, of course. She is no fool, nor is she ignorant of the state of the county. But we are hoping that it will not cause unnecessary dissension between us. Why should it, after all?’

‘I have heard rumour. Your neighbours are beginning to see you with suspicion and there is talk of removing those who might upset the close unity hereabouts.’ Josh’s cheerful face was marred by lines of concern. ‘It might just come to a matter of arms. There are any number of extremists willing to put the matter to the sword.’

‘I know it. I too have heard such murmurings.’ Sir Francis eyed his glass of wine thoughtfully as he voiced his present concern for the first time. ‘Although I married Honoria to give her protection, I am beginning to think that I might have inadvertently put her in more danger. She might have been safer not to be tied to me. Sir William Croft did me the honour of giving me a warning of what might occur.’ He tightened his lips pensively. ‘But it is done. And perhaps today is not such for talking war.’

‘Certainly.’ Josh smiled in understanding. ‘You have my congratulations, Francis. I wish you happy. The past months have not been kind. Your lady looks well.’

‘Hmm. She does.’

Honoria was in deep debate with Mistress Brierly at the far side of the room. He had no difficulty in picking her out of the crowd today. True to her word she had cast off her mourning and now stood in the glory of a full-skirted dress of deep sapphire satin, which glowed and shimmered as she moved in the candlelight. A tiny back train fell regally from her shoulders to brush the floor when she walked. The boned bodice and low neckline drew attention to the curve of her bosom and her slender waist. The deep collar and cuffs were edged with the finest lace.

She turned from her conversation and their eyes caught across the Hall. He raised his glass in a silent salute; she responded with the faintest of smiles and a flush of delicate colour which tinted her cheeks. She had a grace and a tasteful and polished refinement of which he had been unaware. She still looked tired, but there was a glow to her fair skin and her hair shone. The deep blue was flattering to her pale complexion where the black had merely deadened her pallor. Mary, quick to volunteer her skills as lady’s maid and expert gossip, had brushed and coaxed Honoria’s soft brown hair up and back to cascade in deep ringlets with wispy curls around her temples. Hazel eyes glinted gold and green as they caught the light. She is quite lovely , he thought as he drank. How could I not have been aware?

As he watched, Honoria turned her head and bent to accept a posy of the earliest primroses from one of the village children. She smiled and spoke to the little girl, who giggled and ran to her mother’s skirts. A pretty tableau that caused many to smile and nod, but one that had Mansell catch his breath and turn his face away. Memories were so easily triggered, however unwelcome, however inappropriate. Sometimes in the dead of night, when sleep evaded him, he could still feel Katherine’s softness against him. Still taste her on his lips. Perhaps the intense grief was less than it was—he no longer wallowed helplessly, without anchor, in a sea of despair—but it still had the power to attack and rend with sharp claws. They had known each other so intimately, their moods, their thought processes even. It had been so easy to communicate by a mere look or gesture—words were not always necessary. A few short months of heaven had been granted them, together as man and wife, and now, the child also lost, he was left with a lifetime of purgatory.

He tore his tortured mind away, chided himself for allowing such thoughts to surface. Honoria deserved better. Life must go on and he had need of an heir. It was, beyond doubt, a satisfactory settlement for both himself and the lady. And with a deliberate effort of will he closed his mind against the vivid pictures of a previous such occasion when good fortune and enduring love promised to cast their blessings on a tawny-haired, green-eyed bride.

* * *

When the ale and food had disappeared except for the final crumbs, and the tenants could find no more excuse for lingering, there was much whispering behind the screen that led from the kitchens. Master Foxton eventually emerged with due dignity and a silence fell as at a prearranged signal.

The Steward, solemn and seemly, made a short speech of congratulation, followed by a spatter of polite applause. And then, with a grave smile, he raised a hand. ‘We thought to give our new lord a gift on the occasion of his marriage,’ he announced.

Robert staggered out from behind the screen with a log basket, covered with a cloth. He placed it on the floor before Master Foxton’s feet, where it began to rock unsteadily.

‘It is clear to everyone that Lord Edward’s wolfhound has attached herself exclusively to Lady Mansell,’ he continued. He looked round the circle of faces, where smiles were already forming. ‘We though it would be fitting to give our lord one of his own. We are fortunate indeed that Mistress Brierly has a nephew who is employed at Croft Castle. Sir William was very willing to provide us with our needs.’

Foxton bowed to Lord Mansell and walked forward to take the cover from the basket, which immediately rocked on to its side and deposited a small grey creature on to the floor. It rolled and struggled to its feet with gangling energy, to lick the outstretched hand offered by Sir Francis. It was totally ungainly, uncoordinated and entirely charming, its grey pelt still soft with the fur of babyhood. There was no indication here, in the large head and spindly limbs, of the majesty of lithe strength and imposing stature that would one day have the ability to bring down and kill a full-grown wolf.