Medieval Brides

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.’

Chapter Fifteen

‘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?’

Cecily scrambled off the bed in a flurry of activity, shaking out the skirts of her gown and yanking at the bedcover. Rose petals fluttered to the floor. Adam narrowed his eyes, wondering whether his question had discomposed her, but then he noticed the rose petals and thought he understood the reason for her sudden burst of activity. He moved towards the bed. He might have his suspicions about young Philip—about her, indeed—but there was no place for them in this room, not tonight. She was innocent, and she deserved a bridegroom who would take care with her.

‘Cecily?’ Her veil quivered. There were two bright spots of colour on her cheeks. Make light of this, he told himself. She’s as nervous as you are. He smiled. ‘You look like a child who has been caught stealing sweetmeats.’

‘D-do I?’

He caught her hand, tried to pull her close, but she hung back and would not meet his gaze. ‘Cecily? Look at me.’

Slowly she raised her head. ‘Sir?’

Her eyes were as wide as a doe’s. Afraid—yes, she was definitely afraid. Laughing with her bridesmaids had been but a mask. ‘I realise we have not known each other long,’ he said. ‘The marriage need not be consummated tonight.’

Against his instincts, ignoring a most unnerving wave of disappointment, he managed to release her and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Nudging aside the rosemary and lavender posy, he tugged off his boots and tossed them into a corner. In the Hall, someone screeched with laughter, the drums pounded. He had started on his belt when a small hand touched his shoulder.

‘But, Adam…’ the quiet voice was puzzled ‘…if we do not complete our marriage with full—physical—union, it will not be a real one. It could be annulled.’

‘That is true.’

‘Then you…we…we must.’

Her gaze was so earnest that he could not doubt her seriousness. Dropping his belt, he stood up. Even without his boots she only came up to his chest. Little Cecily, his Saxon bride.

‘If it is important to you that we consummate this marriage, then we shall,’ he said, hoping that the only sign of the surge of excitement her words had given him was a slight huskiness in his tone.

‘Yes,’ she said steadily. ‘It is important. This must be a true marriage. Only…’

He found himself staring at her mouth, wondering if it tasted as sweet as he remembered. ‘Only…?’

Dark colour swept into her cheeks and her gaze slid past him. ‘I…I don’t know what to do.’

‘Not part of the convent catechism, eh?’

She gave a shaky laugh. ‘N-no.’

He reached for her wrist and this time she did not pull away. Raising it, he kissed the finger with his ring on it. ‘Let me tell you a secret, Cecily,’ he murmured.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m nervous too.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You? But you’ve been married!’

He lifted his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Nevertheless, I am.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Adam had to agree. He didn’t understand it either. He didn’t love her—how could he after so short a time?—but he had not lied. He was nervous.

‘Gwenn and I—’ He stopped. Perhaps it was not quite tactful to mention one’s first wife when one was about to bed one’s second.

But her face was turned expectantly towards his. ‘Gwenn and you…?’

‘I…we…we grew up together, and fell in love as naturally as breathing. With Gwenn the act was…’ He hesitated, at a loss to explain his relationship with Gwenn to this innocent who had spent the latter part of her life stuck behind the walls of a convent.

Her large eyes were wistful. ‘You loved her,’ she said. ‘Were you nervous with Gwenn?’

He shook his head. ‘She was my first. We learned together.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I could never be nervous with Gwenn.’

She shifted closer and laid a tentative, work-worn hand on his chest. ‘You were confident she loved you. You knew you wouldn’t lose her love, that she’d never hate you.’

‘Y-yes.’ Nonplussed, and more than a little disturbed, Adam drew back and turned to the wine on the coffer. For a moment he stared blankly at the twist of steam rising from the jug. Cecily had hit the nail on the head. He had been confident of Gwenn’s love. Whereas now…But, no, if followed to its natural, logical conclusion, her reasoning implied that his present nervousness was due to concern that she, Cecily, should not dislike him. Which was, he thought dismissively, ridiculous. He filled a goblet and passed it to her, the fragrance of the spiced wine rising to his nostrils.

Ridiculous. For him this was a marriage of convenience. He had only admitted to being nervous to set her at ease. Yes, he was strongly attracted to her, but his emotions were not involved. Nor did he wish them to be, for emotions were apt to cloud a man’s judgement. The only good thing to come out of Gwenn’s death was that he had learnt to keep his emotions in hand.

‘I won’t hate you, Adam.’ Goblet in hand, she stood before him, slender and straight, a beautiful Saxon princess in a garnet-coloured damask gown. His princess. She raised the goblet to her lips, sipped and offered it to him. ‘Truly I won’t.’

‘I’m glad of that,’ he whispered, ‘because I’m woefully out of practice.’ Setting the goblet aside, he reached for her, positioning her so the warmth of her body was where he wanted it, next to his. Gently, he removed her circlet and veil. ‘Gwenn died two years since.’

Her eyes became even larger. Down in the Hall, the drums speeded up.

‘Yes, there’s only ever been Gwenn. My first and my last.’

‘Your last? You mean you only ever…? I mean you…only…only with Gwenn?’

Nodding, he ran his hand down one shining golden braid. That wayward curl—the one that was always escaping—twined round his finger and he felt his loins begin to throb. ‘Aye, only ever with Gwenn. Until now.’ He bent his attention to unfastening the ribbon on a plait and hoped she wouldn’t see the trembling in his fingers.

Reaching on her tiptoes, she planted a light kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she whispered.

Adam grunted and fumbled with the ribbon. She smelt of desire, warm and womanly. She smelt of all he had thought he had lost. He felt a pang in the region of his chest. He thrust it aside. ‘What’s the English word for this?’

‘Ribbon.’ Her voice sounded almost affectionate. He felt another distinct pang and frowned. No more wine for him tonight.

‘Ribbon,’ he repeated, as the ribbon fell away and the thick tress of hair unravelled. Adam began working on her other braid. More glorious hair unravelled; unbound, it almost reached her knees. He wove his fingers into the golden strands. It was soft, and held the fragrance of summer flowers and herbs. It made his head swim.

‘The candlelight makes your hair gleam like gold—gold silk.’ He had to clear his throat. ‘I saw your hair before.’

‘Did you?’ She was watching him almost tenderly.

‘Aye.’ He lowered his head and nuzzled her ear through her hair. Surreptitiously he inhaled. Rosemary, and underneath it that particular fragrance that he was beginning to recognise as her own. It was far more intoxicating than the spiced wine they had been drinking. ‘I saw it, when you helped that woman in labour. I thought you pretty,’ he added with a lop-sided grin. ‘Too pretty by far to be a nun.’

‘And now I’m your wife,’ she said, impulsively catching his hand and bringing it to her cheek. ‘But how I wish…I wonder…’

‘Mmm?’

She shrugged. ‘It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder how it would have been if we had met otherwise. If you had not come with Duke William. If my parents were still living. If…’

He frowned. ‘We cannot change what’s done. If I had not accompanied Duke William I would never have come to Fulford, and you would still be in the convent.’

She heaved a sigh, her expression so woebegone that Adam heard himself say, ‘We could pretend, though, while we are here in our private room. In our bed. We can make believe matters are otherwise.’ He recaptured her wrist. ‘Come here, wife.’

‘I am here. Where else would I go?’

Where, indeed? There was nowhere he wanted her to be save here. She would have been wasted in the convent—wasted. Adam tilted her chin up and pressed his lips to hers, tasting the spicy sweetness of the mulled wine on her tongue. His heartbeat caught up with the pace of the drums, and he felt her body soften in a surrender that was more welcome than he had dared hope for. She reached up, found his shoulders and clung, and when his hands circled her waist she slid hers round his neck.

‘Adam,’ she murmured. ‘My husband.’

Amazement in her tone. And acceptance? Not yet—but one day, God willing. Planting a series of kisses across her cheek, he nipped gently at her ear. She was such an innocent. An innocent who nipped his neck. But an innocent who heated his blood and was wreaking such havoc with his senses that he almost forgot that very innocence and brought his hips more snugly against her. Her breathing changed. Her cheeks were pink.

‘Cecily?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Your lacings? May I?’

Her shy nod gave him permission, and then his fingers were at the ties on one side of her gown, teasing the garnet fabric open. Underneath the heavy damask her shift was light and silky to the touch, her body warm. He must touch her skin. He must…

Finding the lacings on the other side, he loosened them, and tugged impatiently at the material. Had he felt this desperate with Gwenn? Had he felt this needy? It had been too long. He was like a starving man. ‘Lift up your arms.’

Silently, silhouetted in the light of the braziers, cheeks dark with colour, she obeyed him.

The damask whispered and then she was free of it, standing before him like a white lily in a cream undergown with an eye-catching neckline. A white lily who was biting her pretty lips…

He smiled, fighting a losing battle to keep his clasp light as he took her wrist and led her to the bed. Flipping back the covers, he sank down on the mattress, drawing her with him.

‘Adam, m-my shoes.’

It was the work of a moment to tug them off and toss them into the corner along with his boots.

‘I see I have married a tidy man,’ she said with a smile.

‘Maurice despairs.’ Taking her shoulders, he leaned back into the pillows and she fell onto him, her hair, her glorious hair, flowing over his chest.

‘C-can we keep some of our clothes on?’

An objection rose to his lips, but he bit it back because she looked so adorably unsure of herself, gut-wrenchingly innocent—and anyway she was so near him that all he had to do was wind his hand into her hair and bring her head down to his. He did so, and enjoyed a long, long kiss that he never wanted to end. When it did end, he knew he was as flushed as she.

‘Gudrun said I had to be naked,’ she said, swallowing hard. ‘B-but…oh, Adam, I…I can’t.’

He stroked her cheek and looped a length of hair round her ear. ‘You’re shy…’

‘I…I’m sorry. Can we do it if I keep my shift on?’

‘Aye, but, sweetheart, I told you—if you’re not ready, we can wait. The last thing I want is your unwilling body.’

‘No, no—I’m not unwilling,’ she said, and small fingers skimmed over his mouth. ‘Don’t think that. It’s just that…’

‘The convent?’

‘Yes. Lying as we did in the Palace at Winchester, lying as we are now, it seems so…so…intimate. Mother Aethelflaeda…’

‘Is not here. And I will not allow that woman into our bedchamber. So, please, Cecily, leave her back at the convent.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Good.’ Running his hand down her back and over her buttocks, he pulled up the hem of her shift and found her stockings. He ached to know her skin, every warm, seductive inch of it, could only think about losing himself in her body, but somehow he kept his voice cool. ‘What are these in English?’

‘Stockings.’