Читать книгу Medieval Brides - Anne Herries - Страница 20

Surrendering to Gudrun’s urging, Cecily left Matty in the mead hall in charge of the babies, and accompanied the housekeeper to the loft room. A garnet-coloured gown in a rich damask was laid out on the bedcover, alongside a cream silk undergown with an alarmingly low neckline. Reaching out, she examined the texture of the fabric. Silk, and somehow incongruous against the work-roughened skin of her fingers.

‘Oh, no, this is too fine for me.’

‘Nonsense!’

Would Adam like the gown on her? she wondered. Was it vanity on her part to hope so? Well, perhaps she might wear it—for if she did manage to please his eyes, and if he did develop a fondness for her, then surely she would be in a better position to speak for the villagers?

Gudrun had also found a gauzy cream veil, a fabric headband that matched the gown, and a pair of black leather shoes—fresh from the cobbler’s by the look of them.

Unable to resist the lure of new shoes, Cecily plumped herself down on the edge of the bed, yanked off her workaday boots and slipped them on. ‘They fit! Oh, Gudrun, feel how soft the leather is.’ These she would definitely wear.

Gudrun’s smile was warm. ‘Better than you’ve had in awhile, I’d say.’

‘They’re so beautiful I won’t want to spoil them by walking outside.’

Gudrun took a bobbin out of her workbox and snipped off a length of thread. ‘Get you out of that blue dress, my dear, and let’s measure you for the garnet damask.’

‘Gudrun, I…I’m not sure about the dress—’

‘You have to wear something, dear, it might as well be the damask.’

And thus, in no time at all, Cecily was standing self-consciously in nothing but her shift and the new shoes while Gudrun clucked about, oblivious of her embarrassment, slipping the thread round her waist, knotting it to mark her measurement.

‘You’re as tiny as you were when you left us,’ Gudrun said. ‘I thought you would grow, but you still have the smallest waist in the family.’

Cecily smiled. ‘Emma’s taller than me, so she would be bigger.’

Gudrun held the thread out again. ‘Now for your bosom…’

As Gudrun wound the thread round her again, Cecily’s face grew warm.

Gudrun’s eyes sparkled. ‘No need to be shy with me, dear,’ she said, briskly marking the size with another knot in the thread. ‘Who washed your clothes when Cenwulf chased you into the pigsty? Who bathed you when you were little? Who…?’ Gudrun gave her a sly look. ‘Such modesty is fitting in a convent, no doubt, but in a married woman…’ She clucked her tongue and shook her head. ‘He won’t like it.’

Thoughtfully, Cecily submitted while Gudrun continued taking her measure…the width of her hips, the length of her arms from wrist to shoulder, the length of her from waist to floor…As each measurement was taken, another knot was added to the string.

‘Let me see you in the silk shift,’ Gudrun said, reaching into the sewing box for the pin pad. ‘It laces at the back, which is a blessing as the seams will be easier to take in. The damask, unfortunately, laces at the side; it will be more tricky to alter that. I pray I can get it done for three o’clock.’

‘Thank you for doing this, Gudrun. I appreciate it, but you mustn’t worry if it’s not finished.’

‘It will be,’ Gudrun said, as Cecily dragged the cream undergown over her head. ‘Another day we can look to the other gowns. There’s also some fabric in the linen closet, waiting to be made up. It would do for Sir Adam. There’s enough stuff in there for his men too, if you’re of a mind to follow your mother’s tradition. As Sir Adam’s wife, it will be your duty to see your husband and his men well clothed. Your mother gave every man in your father’s household a new tunic, hose and braies at Yuletide.’

‘Yes, Gudrun, I do remember.’ Cecily bit her lip. She might not be the ablest of seamstresses, but she knew which housewifely duties would be expected of her. Today, however, it was the more physical aspects of marriage that concerned her. She wanted to know more about what happened between a husband and wife in the marriage bed, and Gudrun would seem the best person to ask. Gudrun had, as she had pointed out, known her since she was a child. She was a married woman herself, so…

The silk undergown was soft and warm, but the neckline—really, it was shamefully low. She pulled ineffectually at the bodice, trying to hide her exposed flesh.

‘Don’t do that, dear,’ Gudrun said, batting her hands away. ‘You spoil the fall of the skirt.’

‘Gudrun?’

‘Mmm?’ Gudrun mumbled through a mouthful of pins. She dropped to her knees and began turning up the hem.

‘A-about the marriage bed?’

Gudrun’s hands worked swiftly as she pulled at the skirt of the undergown. Tuck, pin. Tuck, pin. Tuck, pin. ‘Mmm?’

‘Could…?’ Cecily twisted her hands together. ‘Could you please explain to me what happens, exactly?’

Gudrun rocked back on her heels and turned startled eyes up at her. Removing the pins from her mouth, she stuck them back in the pincushion. ‘What happens, child? But surely you know?’

Cecily’s face was burning. ‘I know what…what animals do, of course. I’ve seen dogs and…and horses—but what about people? It can’t be like that with people. Is it?’

Gudrun rose, took Cecily by the hand and sat down on the bed. ‘I don’t expect this was a subject ever touched upon by Mother Aethelflaeda?’

‘No—not unless you count the time that Novice Ingrid joined us. There was much talk then of sin. Mother Aethelflaeda read out a passage from the Bible and interpreted it for us. She said that women gave birth in pain to pay for the sins they had committed when conceiving their children. She talked constantly about carnal love and the sins of the flesh.’

‘You poor love—you are afraid,’ Gudrun said gently.

‘Afraid? No. I don’t think Sir Adam would hurt me. At least…I…I hope not. But does…does it hurt, Gudrun?’

Gudrun patted her hand. ‘With some women it does the first time, maybe even the first few times, but not always. Wilf didn’t hurt me.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t fret, dear. Sir Adam wants your marriage to succeed.’

‘Does he? How can you know that? I’m just one of the means by which he legitimises his claim to my father’s lands.’

Gudrun nodded. ‘There is something in what you say, I’m sure. But that’s not the full story. He likes you, dear. I’ve seen the way he is with you. Already you’re more to him than that. And given time…’

‘He was married before,’ Cecily blurted out. ‘I think he loved his wife.’

‘Did he, dear? That’s good.’

Cecily wrinkled her brow. ‘How so?’

Gudrun’s eyes danced. ‘If he loved her, she’ll have taught him how to pleasure a woman.’

Pleasure? The carnal pleasure that Mother Aethelflaeda insisted was a sin? It sounded interesting, but…

Cecily had opened her mouth to ask Gudrun for chapter and verse on the nature of this pleasure when someone knocked briefly on the door of the bedchamber. Before she had time to answer, the door opened and Edmund stepped swiftly into the room, cracking a crutch on the doorpost.

Flushing, Cecily snatched up the garnet damask and held it in front of her chest.

‘Edmund, for shame!’ Gudrun jumped to her feet, attempting to shield Cecily from him. ‘You should not be in here!’

But Edmund had neither eyes nor ears for Gudrun. With a dexterity that was astonishing in a man on crutches, he sidestepped her and towered over Cecily. He was out of breath, doubtless owing to his exertions in climbing the loft ladder with a bad leg.

‘Delay this wedding,’ he said. His eyes were hard as flints, and there was a tightness about his lips and jaw.

Cecily resisted the urge to shrink into the bed. ‘Delay? I cannot.’

‘You must.’ Moving closer, Edmund rested his weight on one crutch, reached down and dragged her to her feet. ‘You must!’

‘No, Edmund,’ Cecily said, squaring her shoulders. ‘It’s not up to me. Ask Father Aelfric. Today’s the last day for wedding before Advent begins. If we don’t wed now, we’d have to wait until—’

‘If you delay even a day you may not need to marry him,’ Edmund said baldly.

Cecily skin crawled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve seen Judhael,’ Edmund went on, his voice low. ‘Steps are being taken. If you can wait but a day, maybe two…’ he brought his nose to within an inch of hers ‘…you won’t need to marry a Norman with Saxon blood on his hands.’

‘Adam is Breton, and the marriage is fixed. I’ve told you before, Edmund, you are fighting a lost cause.’ Aware her voice had risen, Cecily moderated it and spoke rapidly. ‘For heaven’s sake, get a grip. I know you grieve for the past—we all do—but you must accept reality. Life has changed. I don’t know what you’re planning, but it can only lead to more deaths, more injuries. Think about the consequences for others before you do anything rash.’

Edmund’s expression hardened, and he yanked the garnet damask out of Cecily’s hands, revealing the low-cut silk undergown. He looked her up and down. ‘You whore…’

‘Edmund!’ Gudrun said, tight-lipped. ‘That’s more than enough. I think you should leave.’

‘I’m going, rest assured,’ Edmund said. He tossed the gown back at Cecily and, swinging round on his crutches, lurched to the door. ‘And when I’ve gone you may have cause to regret it. I repeat—marry Adam Wymark this afternoon and you will live to regret that you refused my advice.’ Unexpectedly, his face softened. ‘But, since you’re Cenwulf’s baby sister, I’ll offer it one last time. Put this marriage off. Delay it, even for a day, and you won’t regret it.’

‘What are you going to do? Edmund…?’

But Cecily spoke to a closed door, for as swiftly as he had entered, Edmund was gone. His crutches tapped along the landing to the stairs, and she was disinclined to follow him into a public area in a cream undergown.

‘Sir Adam?’

Adam tossed the axe with the broken handle onto the armoury bench and looked up. ‘Maurice?’

‘I thought you should know, sir, that housecarl, Edmund…’

‘Yes?’

‘He has just paid Lady Cecily a visit up in the loft room, and I do not think she was examining his leg.’

A sinking sensation made itself felt in Adam’s stomach. ‘Edmund had private counsel with her?’

The kiss Cecily had given Edmund on her arrival jumped into his brain. He tucked his thumbs in his belt and called it to mind in more detail. Cecily had leaned forwards, cutting Edmund’s words off mid-sentence. It had been a brief kiss. He would wager it had startled the housecarl as much as it had irritated Adam. He sighed. It might not have been a lover’s kiss, but it had roused other suspicions…

‘No, sir, not precisely private. Gudrun was with her—I made out something about dress fittings, but my English…’ Maurice gave a regretful shrug.

The gable end of the hall was visible through the armoury door. From this angle Adam could see the window slit that was high above the bed. The bed that tonight he was going to share with her. He chewed on his thumbnail. ‘Hell—hell and damnation.’

Maurice drew back. ‘My apologies, sir, but you did say you wanted to know if I noticed anything untoward.’

Adam clapped his squire on the shoulder. ‘Yes, Maurice, you were right to tell me.’ He stepped outside. ‘I knew a confrontation between Lady Cecily and myself was inevitable. It was just that I had hoped it might keep until after our wedding.’

And why was that? a voice asked. Surely you did not think you, Duke William’s man, could win over the loyalty of a thane’s daughter with your prowess between the sheets? No, Adam thought bleakly, as he strode across the yard, that was not what he had thought. But he would have felt happier delaying the confrontation until after the bedding, because there was more chance she would come to him willingly if they were amicable. He did not want to force her. Dear God, all he had wanted was the chance to try and teach Cecily to find some pleasure in his body, so that their marriage might not be completely doomed. They had problems that might divide the most loving of couples, but her response when they kissed had led him to hope that in this one small area they might have a chance…

In the loft room, Gudrun was tutting and shaking her head. ‘Don’t pay Edmund any mind, dear. This marriage of yours may not be perfect, but we have to make the best of things.’

‘I hoped Edmund would see that.’

‘He’ll come round. His bark was always worse than his bite. At the moment he grieves for his friends. He is guilty for being alive when so many have died.’

Staring at the closed door, Cecily bit her lip. ‘I hope you are right.’ She looked down at the gown in her hands. Edmund had crumpled it. He had seen Judhael! Was Emma well? So many questions and no chance to ask them. ‘I wish I had your confidence, Gudrun. I fear he may do something rash.’

Gudrun took the garnet damask from her and shook it out with a snap. ‘Not that one, dear.’ Her voice became confidential. ‘All bluster, he. Why, it’s my belief he may have hurt his leg on purpose, so he wouldn’t have to go and fight when the Normans landed.’

‘No!’ Cecily stared. ‘Edmund was one of my father’s most trusted housecarls! Besides, you said just now he feels guilty that he didn’t fight…’

Gudrun pursed her lips. ‘Well, perhaps you are in the right. Who knows?’

‘It is worrying, though. It must have been a battle to get up those stairs with that leg. He wouldn’t have done that purely for the sake of picking an argument.’

Gudrun shook her head and refused to be drawn further. She held up the garnet damask, and Cecily was reaching out to take it when the door swung open for the second time.

‘Really, Edmund!’ Cecily swung round, the gown clutched to her bosom, and almost bit off the tip of her tongue. Adam! It was Adam and not Edmund whose broad shoulders filled the doorway. His black brows were drawn together in a frown and his eyes were dark with suspicion. He knew! Adam knew Edmund had been up here to speak with her. Her mind whirled. Did he also know that Edmund was in contact with Judhael and the resistance? Did he suspect her too? She straightened her spine and vowed to guard her tongue; no one would suffer from anything she said.

‘My lady.’ Adam inclined his head, his gaze running over her from head to toe, taking in the cream undergown with its low neck, the garnet dress held in front of her like a shield, her sister’s shoes.

Gudrun, whose jaw had dropped when she had seen who stood there, lurched into movement. ‘Sir, you should not be in here! Sir?’ With a flurry of skirts, Gudrun rushed at Adam, waving her hands at him as though he were a wayward hen she was shooing back into the henhouse. ‘Please, sir, we have not finished,’ she went on in shocked tones, in English. ‘It is not fitting that you should see her until she is clothed. Go, please.’

Fearful for her, Cecily held her breath. Though Adam probably could not understand every word, Gudrun’s meaning was clear as crystal. Surely he would strike her? No man, least of all a Frankish knight, liked to be ordered from his bedchamber by a Saxon wet nurse.

He paused, one foot over the threshold, and she could swear his lips twitched. Laughter? He was laughing?

She caught Gudrun’s arm, whispering, ‘Gudrun, take care.’

Ignoring Gudrun, Adam came to stand in front of Cecily. No, he was not smiling. His mouth was stern, his eyes cool. ‘Please to tell your woman that I would have private speech with you.’

‘Gudrun, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us? I will call you when we have finished.’

‘No, dear, it’s most improper.’

‘A brave woman,’ Adam murmured, his eyes not moving from Cecily’s, ‘but misguided. Please to tell her that if she doesn’t leave on her own two legs I shall toss her out myself.’

His tall, conqueror’s body surely had to have been made by some demon, since its shape so pleased her eyes yet at the same time it frightened her. He frightened her, with his calm, quiet assurance. He was unlike any man she had ever met. The moment he had opened the door she had recognised anger in him, but it was not like the hot, loud, uncontrollable anger that occasionally had taken over her father. This was, in its way, far more alarming. This was controlled power, and he was very much in command of it. Adam shifted slightly, as though to emphasise that his threat to throw Gudrun out was in earnest.

‘Gudrun, please!’

Gudrun threw a scowl at them and stomped from the room, muttering under her breath.

He was blocking out the light from the wall windows. A silhouette. A strong, slender young man. A warrior. Cecily crushed the damask to her breast and wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart.

‘Is it customary in these parts for Saxon ladies to entertain housecarls in their chamber while dressing for their wedding?’

‘I…I…No.’ She put some strength in her voice. ‘Of course not.’

Adam smiled. It was not one of his more pleasant smiles. ‘I thought not. So, if you please, my lady, would you mind telling me what you were talking about?’

So quiet his voice. So calm his tone. She drew in a shaky breath. Do not let anyone suffer from what you say to him. ‘I…We…That is…he…’

‘My lady…?’

At a loss, she stared up at him. ‘He…he does not wish me to marry you.’ There—she had given him the truth, and it was a truth that could hurt no one.

‘And that is all?’

She stared up at him, but with most of the light behind him, his expression was hidden. ‘Sir?’

‘No meetings arranged with what is left of the Saxon nobility? No plans to oust me from Fulford? No plans to kill me, perhaps?’

Thankful that Edmund had not let her in on any of his schemes, again she could give him the truth. ‘To kill you? Not that I know of, sir.’

He stared at her for a long moment. ‘Would you tell me if you knew, Cecily? That is what I find myself wondering.’ Sighing, he turned his back on her, and his voice became little more than a whisper. ‘I find myself wishing I could trust you.’

Something in her tightened, and when after another pause she realised he was gazing down at the matting, tearing at one of his fingernails with his teeth, the tightness turned into pain. He was hurting, and she could feel it. He did want to trust her. But surely the great Breton warrior could not be hurting because of her? It could not be…And yet…?

She stared at his back, took a deep breath, and moved to his side. ‘Adam?’ Greatly daring, her pulse racing at her temerity, she reached up and gently took his hand away from his mouth. ‘That is not an attractive habit, sir.’

His fingers tightened on hers. His lips came up at one corner and his gaze softened. ‘You think not? Then, since you are to be my bride, I will do my best to break it.’ He opened his mouth to say more, but someone rattled the door.

‘Gudrun,’ Cecily said.

‘Is that woman afraid of nothing?’

Cecily laughed. ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘She has your interests at heart. She is a woman in a million.’ Lifting her hand briefly to his lips, he released her. Somewhat bemusedly, Cecily watched him wave Gudrun in and bow himself out.

‘He did not bully you, did he, dear?’ Gudrun asked when they were once again alone. For the second time, she took the dress from Cecily and shook out the creases.

‘N-no, not at all.’

‘That’s good. Hurry, dear, slip this on.’

Deep in thought, Cecily stood like a statue while Gudrun pulled the dress over her head and chatted and fussed and cajoled. Ought she to warn Adam if she learned of plans to kill him? Certainly she had no wish for his death. But if it came down to a choice between saving Adam’s life or the life of one of her father’s people she did not know how she would choose. Dear Lord, do not let it come to that, she prayed.

Gudrun adjusted the seams and hem of the garnet gown and, preoccupied though she was, Cecily managed to find words to admire the cream silk that lined the sleeves; she praised her mother’s embroidery on the hem and neckline…

‘Yes, Gudrun. No one could best Mother at gold and silver threadwork…Yes, Gudrun, the veil is very fine…Yes, Gudrun, it is clever the way the leaves and flowers on the circlet match the leaves and flowers in the weave of the gown…’

And while the surface of her mind was busy with Gudrun, another, deeper part of her was wondering what Edmund had been alluding to when he had said he had spoken to Judhael. Should she warn Adam? Or would a warning only make things worse? Was Gudrun right when she maintained that Edmund was all bluster?

Gudrun moved about her: pulling, lacing, checking the fabric was falling just so. And slowly the light from the windows moved across the matting. One thing was certain. At three o’clock, as the winter sun began to fade, she was going to be joined with Adam Wymark in Holy Matrimony. A day she had thought she would never see. Her wedding day.

This garnet gown—the gown her mother had embroidered for her sister—would help to conjure their presence, so she would not be standing alone when she made her vows. A small comfort, perhaps, but one she cherished.

As was the custom in England, the wedding was to be held just outside the wooden church. Word had spread among the villagers, and by the time Adam arrived with Richard and his men a number of Saxons had already gathered to witness it.

The doorposts of Fulford church were garlanded. Ivy, juniper and holly, twisted together with cream satin ribbon. Someone had made a rough arch out of lengths of hazel, and more of the cream ribbon was twined around it, holding the evergreens in place. Done in her honour, not his, but he was glad to see it.

The villagers fell silent at his approach. Adam ran his hand through his hair—shorn by Maurice in honour of the occasion—and straightened his dark blue tunic. For the tenth time he checked his cross-gartering. To Richard’s disgust, he had again dispensed with his sword.

At his elbow, Richard gave a soft chuckle. ‘Anyone would think you’ve not done this before.’

‘I’m not nervous!’

‘Of course not. You’re hopping from foot to foot like a cat on hot coals just for the exercise.’

Adam scowled and glanced towards the Hall. He had not spoken to Cecily since Gudrun had interrupted them, and he wished they had managed to exchange a few more words in private. He had glimpsed her in the Hall later, but she’d been so wrapped up in ordering the wedding supper and in Gudrun’s young son that he’d not won so much as a glance.

‘She’s late,’ he said, rolling his shoulders as her father’s remaining housecarl appeared in the Hall entrance. Relying heavily on his crutches, Edmund swung across the green towards them, his face rigid with hostility.

Adam’s scowl deepened. ‘That man bears watching,’ he murmured, for Richard’s ears alone, though he doubted that any of the Saxons would understand him. He did not catch Richard’s response, for at that moment there was a fluttering in the hall, a soft giggle—Matty—and then there she was, framed by the doorway.

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.’