Chapter Nineteen

“ C ome, Ranulf, if you feel like pacing so much, let us get out of here and walk the battlements,” Walter suggested.

“I cannot leave now.”

“Then at least sit down and get your eyes off that door. It will not open the sooner for your watching of it, and someone is like to notice your tension do you not sit down.”

Ranulf sighed and joined Walter at the table, though he could not relax. The Great Hall was more crowded than ever now that Sir Henry had arrived late this afternoon with a retinue of twenty knights and as many squires. The number of ladies had also more than doubled, Simon’s and John’s wives and daughters sent for, the other vassals’ and castellans’ women arriving with their men, six ladies coming with Sir Henry, including the earl’s wife and two married daughters. The air was as festive as if the wedding celebration had already begun, though the wedding was planned for the morrow.

The lower tables had been cleared away right after supper, and most of the crowd was dancing to the rousing tunes of a group of minstrels set up in the gallery. A few older men were playing chess or tables, despite the noise. There were dice games going on at the other end of the hall amidst the squires. And servants weaved in and out of the crowd, keeping ale and wine cups replenished.

Ranulf was finally not under such close scrutiny as he had been throughout the meal, though there were still ladies who could not keep their eyes from him. Walter was right. He was showing himself to be as nervous as any groom, making a first-class fool of himself, and all because Reina had closeted herself in one of the wall chambers off the hall with Sir Henry.

“You know,” Walter said, breaking into his thoughts, “I could have sworn you were the man who had to have his arm twisted to accept this glorious prize, yet here you are making it a matter of life and death if you do not get it.”

“How would you like a little arms practice?”

Walter chuckled. “Feel like running me through, do you? Instead, tell me what turned you about in favor of Clydon.”

“You know very well ’twas taking a lady to wife that I objected to. Never Clydon.”

“Aye, I know it. And she still comes with the prize. So what changed your mind about her?”

“Naught has changed my mind. She is still not to be trusted farther than I can spit, but as you said, she comes with the prize.”

“She has kept to her end of the bargain so far.”

“Walter, you are being a pest!”

Walter blithely ignored the warning. “Well, has she not? She has presented you so favorably that every one of her men is now eager to swear fealty to you. Not only that, they like you.” That got a dark look that Walter could not resist laughing over. “And even now she is working toward overcoming the last possible obstacle.”

“Is she?”

“Is that what has you worried? How can you think she would undo everything she has done at the last moment? ’Tis not reasonable to think so.”

“But women think differently than men do, and now is the perfect time to drop the sword, when ’tis no longer expected. Know you where she sleeps? Not with me. She does not consider herself well and truly wed yet.”

Walter’s mouth dropped open, and then he burst into guffaws of laughter. “Incredible. I should have realized your restlessness had more meaning to it. God’s wounds, Ranulf, if you need a woman, why have you not taken one? ’Tis not as if there are not dozens here who would gladly have your notice.”

Ranulf did not answer, refusing to mention that he was so irritated with his wife’s attitude that he had looked the wenches over, and every time he thought to approach one or even indicate more subtly his wishes that she come to him later in his chamber, he found that infernal catamite Theodric watching him, almost as if the boy could read his mind. ’Twas frustrating beyond belief, but he was not about to risk displeasing his wife before she became his wife in the eyes of her people. He had little doubt her “maid” was deliberating thwarting him. And the more he was denied a woman, the more he wanted one.

But she would denounce him for a lecher, that he could not abstain for a mere few days. He was not going to give her that pleasure. Ladies loved to moralize, even those who were hypocrites and played as much as their husbands. Cursed lot of them.

“You do not desire a long life, do you, Walter?”

“All right, all right, I will plague you no more. But at least I took your mind off what is happening in that room. I do have my uses, you know.”

“But he has no property, Lady Reina, not even a farm. How could your father have picked him over all the landed lords available to choose from?”

Reina had not worried about this meeting. Henry was a smallish man, no taller than she, clerkish in stature, yet in Lord Guy’s absence, he held the power of Shefford in his hands. But he was not a man who gloried in that power, delighting in the fear it could invoke. He was sensible, intelligent, and a reasonable explanation was all that was necessary to make him see her point of view.

“A man with no other duties or concerns of importance will make Clydon his main concern,” she told him. “My father was not as interested in enlarging Clydon as in protecting it, and keeping it as intact as when the earl gave it him. Sir Ranulf will have no other overlord to conflict with his homage to the earl, as would most any other lord. How can you object to that, when ’tis in the earl’s best interests to have a man sworn only to him, just as my father was?”

“I had not considered that, but you are right, of course.”

Reina grinned at him. “Besides, Sir Henry, he is rich. He has been a mercenary for long, and you know how much they have been in demand recently, with so many nobles gone off to Crusade.” She handed over the copy of the marriage contract that he would take to Shefford Castle, waiting until his eyes widened when he came to the part indicating Ranulf’s portion before adding, “He could have bought land long ago, but has been too busy earning more money to get around to it. He still can, if we feel there is a need. Think you it is still important?”

“Nay, not at all. You should have told me sooner that he comes to you so prosperous.”

She shrugged. “’Tis his capabilities that matter to us.”

“True, true,” he agreed absently while glancing over the rest of the contract. And then: “He gives back everything? How did your father manage to get him to agree to that? Most men fight like mad to give nothing, yet he gives back everything of yours, and gives everything he possesses as well!”

“You know my father was more generous than that,” she replied. “Those were Ranulf’s terms, because he has family he does not wish to acknowledge or see benefit by his marriage to me. It was to our benefit to find no fault with this idiosyncrasy of his.”

“Certainly not,” Sir Henry agreed. “I have never seen a more advantageous contract for a bride. Lord Guy will be most pleased.”

The bottom of Ranulf’s stomach dropped out, or so it felt, when he saw the smug little smile Reina wore as she emerged from the wall chamber with Sir Henry.

“Shefford will accept your fealty and gladly, my lord,” she told him, the smug smile turning into a wide one.

He did not believe her. He could not. She would not be happy that she was stuck with him. How could she be? The denouement would come, sometime between now and the ceremony on the morrow, or mayhap during the ceremony, but it would come.

Ranulf went to bed that night so morose he was certain ’twas the last time he would sleep in the lord’s chamber. Clydon his? It had been a nice fantasy for a short while.

First thing in the morn, he had Lanzo sharpen his sword. If he had to fight his way out after the denouement, so be it. He also had the lad warn the others to be prepared. Walter was going to laugh his head off, but better that than have it hacked off. He was not suffering “before-wedding” nervousness. After all, today was no more than a formality. He was already wed—though his wife would like that changed.

’Twas cruel beyond words what she had done. The honest approach would have been to disclaim him as soon as they were met by her men in force. But nay, she had to wait until Shefford’s man came with even more men, to let Ranulf be deluded into thinking Clydon really could be his, that she truly wanted him for her lord. The only honest indication of her feelings had been when she refused to share his bed. That should have given him warning instead of merely irritating the hell out of him.

The arrival of his wedding finery was noted with little enthusiasm on his part, though Lanzo fairly swooned in awe. The royal purple mantle of velvet, trimmed in white ermine, was finer than anything he had ever owned, but then he had never been one to waste money on rich clothing when he had no one to impress and better needs for that money. The long-sleeved tunic was shot through with so much silver thread, from a distance it appeared a glittering silver cloth rather than the fine white sendal silk it was. Even the chausses were of the best quality, and a belt had been included with a silver buckle to match the brooch for his mantle, both decorated with small purple gems and looking newly made.

That the clothes were made especially for him was indicated by their perfect fit. That Ranulf did not care was indicative of his mood, still sunk in gloom.

He heard little of the praise from his friends for his new finery, did not even recognize his wife when she entered the hall, and was barely aware of being ushered out of the keep for the short ride to the village, where the ceremony was to take place before the village church. With prodding from the priest, he managed to repeat the terms of the marriage contract, what he was to contribute to the marriage, and give his wife a ring in token of the dower, as well as a gift of gold coins. The ring and the money represented a pledge, in Old English, a wed , whence a wedding. The vows were then exchanged for all to hear, and before Ranulf knew it, they were moving inside the church for the nuptial mass.

Yet even during the long mass, it did not dawn on him that it was actually accomplished. He had wed his lady wife again. He had warned his men to be prepared for anything, but he was so in a daze himself, he could have been struck down from any side and not seen the blow coming. Not until the mass was over and Sir Henry approached him right there in the church to hear him swear homage to Shefford, did Ranulf begin to suspect what an idiot he had been. That done, the Clydon vassals were quick to do likewise, and swore fealty to him for their honors then and there.

No longer dazed but still thoroughly bemused, Ranulf looked at his wife, who held to his arm as they left the church together. “You married me?”

She trilled a soft laugh before she leaned closer to whisper up at him, “I am glad you were at our first wedding, my lord, for you surely have not been much present at this one.”

It was a red-faced groom who was greeted by the cheering crowd outside the church.