When Love Awaits (5 page)

L
EONIE instantly recognized the woman who waited in the large hall of Crewel to greet the wedding party. She introduced herself as Lady Amelia, ward of Rolfe d’Ambert, but Leonie knew her as the woman who had given the Black Wolf her favor on the tourney field and accepted his passionate kiss. Ward? Mistress, without a doubt. But Leonie wasn’t sorry. The Black Wolf could have a hundred mistresses, as long as he left her alone.

“Sir William, Lady Judith, do you make yourselves comfortable and my lord Rolfe will greet you in a moment,” Amelia said in a most agreeable tone. She turned to Leonie then. “My lady, if you will come with me, I will show you to a chamber where you may wait until the ceremony begins.”

Leonie said not a word. She followed the older woman, glad to be gone from her father and Judith’s company. She had said not a word to either of them during the journey to Crewel. Her father had tried to talk to her, but she had turned away from him.

Leonie knew Crewel well. She knew that Amelia was taking her to the small room next to the chapel in the forebuilding. Crewel was not like Pershwick at all. Sir Edmond had looked to his comfort in all things, and Leonie remembered that one of the reasons she enjoyed coming to Crewel as a child was the fasci
nation of always finding something changed. Once it was a new room added above the raised dais at the lord’s end of the hall. Later that space was enclosed to become the lord’s chamber. Then a room was added at the opposite end of the hall above the servants’ smaller hearth, when Alain was knighted. Soon after that the space between the two large chambers was filled in, and now there was a whole second floor with many stairways circling up to it from the hall. The original ceiling had been so high that, even with the second floor, the ceiling was still high above everything.

It was a place of comfort, and it offered privacy where Pershwick did not, but Leonie’s nervousness was mounting. It struck her suddenly that the Black Wolf’s mistress had greeted them in the hall. What peculiar behavior. He was treating her contemptuously even before the wedding.

The small room that Amelia brought her to contained two stools and a table with a bottle of wine and glasses on it. “It may be a while before they are ready for you, Lady Leonie. The marriage contract must be agreed upon first.”

“I am in no hurry,” Leonie replied without feeling, leaving Amelia wondering what to think of her. She had been ready to hate her rival, eager to spite her in any way possible. But the girl before her was no bigger than a child. She even sounded like a child. With her cloak drawn tightly about her and a long veil covering her head and face, there was no telling what she looked like. Girls were married at thirteen and fourteen, or even younger, so she could be very young.
That
would certainly change Amelia’s thinking, for she could hardly see a child as a rival.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Amelia asked. “Would you like to remove your veil or…?”

Leonie shook her head. “If you would send me my maid Wilda, I would be grateful.”

“As you will,” Amelia replied with a heavy sigh. In that instant, she determined she would come back soon and catch Leonie unawares. Surely the girl would remove the veil after she sat in that tiny room a while. It was hot in there.

She found the maid and sent her to Lady Leonie and then, hearing Rolfe’s angry voice in the hall, hurried in the other direction, toward the kitchens, to make sure preparations were running smoothly.

That was not something Amelia would ordinarily concern herself with, having customarily left the running of Rolfe’s household to the Crewel steward, but she most particularly did not wish to return to the chamber she had moved her belongings into just that morning. That room was a reminder that, at least for the present, she was not first lady at Crewel Keep.

In the tiny room next to the chapel, Leonie heard a voice raised in anger. She recognized it from that day in the woods. The Black Wolf. But it was the first time Wilda had heard him, and even though they could not make out his words, the poor girl’s eyes went wide with fright. Leonie could not reassure her, not without lying, so she kept quiet, adding more sedative to her wine.

She could not begin to guess the reason for the Black Wolf’s anger. It was he who had insisted on this marriage. She didn’t think it had to do with the marriage contract. Her lands were supposed to be hers to do with as she wished. That was her mother’s desire. But she didn’t think her father, with so little concern for her, would insist on including that in the marriage
contract. Even if he did, what would the contract matter to the Black Wolf? He’d showed himself plainly as a man who would dispossess another for his land whenever he wished.

The thought chilled her, even in the stuffy little room. Marriage would make her his property. He could do whatever he liked with her. He could imprison her for the rest of her life, even kill her.

Impulsively Leonie took a small blade which she kept in her medicine basket to cut bandages, and tucked it into her leather girdle, where it would be covered soon again by her veil. She was damned if she would find herself at a man’s mercy ever again, as she’d been with Richer.

“Lady Leonie, I have these fresh from the kitchen.”

Leonie jumped and swung around on the stool. Amelia had entered the room without knocking, holding a tray of small cakes. She froze, her green eyes wide with shock, at the sight of Leonie’s unveiled face.

“Do you always come into a room unbidden?” Leonie demanded, surprised to find that she still had the spirit to be angry.

“I—I am sorry, my lady. I thought you might like…” Amazed by her rival’s condition, she was suddenly emboldened enough to ask, “You—you did not want to marry Rolfe?”

Leonie noted the ease with which Amelia used the Christian name.

“I did not want him for my husband, no, but as you can see, I was not given a choice.” Why not tell her the truth?

“Then perhaps I can relieve your mind, my lady,” Amelia offered. “If you will give me a few moments alone.”

Leonie nodded to Wilda, and the girl slipped out
of the room and closed the door. Amelia set her tray down on the table, but did not sit down.

“You have not met Rolfe d’Ambert, have you?” she began.

“No.”

“Have you heard he is very handsome?”

Leonie almost laughed. “A man can be an Adonis, but have the heart of the devil.”

“You do not want him?” Amelia pressed.

“I have said I do not,” Leonie replied impatiently.

“Then you will be relieved to know he will not trouble you. He…marries you for your land only. You see, he has me to see to his…other needs.”

“Oh?”

Amelia frowned at the sarcastic tone. “We do not have to be enemies, you and I. If you do not want him, then you can hardly object if I have him.”

“I do not object. You are welcome to him. But you have not relieved my mind. Why does he wish to marry me when there are any number of women with more land than I?”

“It is Pershwick he wants, because of the trouble there, which you must know more about than I. I can only tell you what his friend Thorpe told me only this morning. Rolfe is a man of temper, and a man of the moment. If he wanted grander estates, he would have gone after them. If he wants them in the future, he will go after them. He always gets what he wants, and he wanted the troubles with Pershwick ended so he offered for you. When he was refused he went to see the king. Now he has what he wants.”

“So he does.” Leonie’s voice was subdued, for all her fears had been confirmed. “Tell me only this,” she asked quickly. “Do you know what he plans for me?”

“He said he would send you away after the wedding.”

“Away? Where?”

“I do not know, but—”

A knock interrupted them, and Judith entered. Even that lady was shocked to see what Richer had done. She shivered, remembering her beating at William’s hands.

The girl’s stunning beauty had vanished beneath her swollen and blackened face. The silver-blond hair flowed softly about her shoulders. The well-rounded little figure was clad in a tightly laced long-sleeved dark gray chemise with a pale gray overtunic embroidered in silver thread. The tunic had full sleeves to the elbow and was slit up the sides to reveal more of the chemise. A silver corded girdle emphasized the tiny waist. But the lovely body did not distract from the horror of her face.

“You are here for a reason, Judith?” Leonie asked coldly as Judith continued staring at her face.

“You will not appear like that,” Judith stated.

“Why? Am I not properly attired for a wedding?”

“It is time.” At those words, Amelia left the room. Judith remarked distastefully, “I am surprised you would talk to that woman, Leonie. Do you not know she is his mistress?”

“If I did not know, then I have you to thank for telling me.”

Judith chose not to react to the sarcasm. “Come. Your father is waiting to escort you. And your husband is already at the altar. He knows you had to be forced, so if you wish to appear as you are, you shame only yourself. I thought that story about the rash was rather clever for your aunt’s benefit.”

“It was for Sir Guibert’s benefit, to keep him from
killing my father’s man. And no, I will not appear like this, for the same reason.”

With slow deliberation, Leonie put her veil back on and smoothed its folds. Sight through the thick material was distorted at best, but Leonie could see through only one eye anyway. She had to tilt her head back to see at all, and this gave the mistaken impression that she was looking down her nose at people. Under the circumstances, the mistake suited her very well.

“I am ready,” she said bravely, and Judith was a little taken aback by her courage.

At the entrance to the small chapel, Sir William took his daughter’s hand and placed it on his arm, though she refused to give him a single glance. In the chapel she saw benches filled with guests and, at the altar, the large blurred form of a man. All her terror surged upward as her father began to walk her down the aisle.

“Leonie, if you ever have need of me—”

“You have shown how I may depend on you, Father,” she hissed. “You give me to this black rogue. Show me no more of your love and concern, I beg you.”

“Leonie!”

There was terrible pain in the exclamation, and the realization ripped through Leonie. But how dared he show his love now? How dared he make her remember the father he had once been? He had drink to make him forget their happy past, but what did she have? She could never forget.

She would have said as much, but the words could not get past the knot choking her throat. And then, in a moment, it was too late and she was left to stand beside the Black Wolf. She would wonder later how she’d managed to say the words that bound her to him.
Was it only the fear she felt from the moment she heard his deep growling voice beside her?

Neither was Rolfe paying much attention to the priest’s words. He was fighting the bitter gall that had risen the moment he saw his bride. She was no bigger than a child, stood no higher than his chest. Had this little girl caused him so much trouble? And what made him ill was that she was covered from head to foot like a leper. Her vassal claimed she was concealing a rash. Did he believe that? Dared he hope it was something that would go away as Sir Guibert suggested?

To make this as awful a situation as possible, the girl’s stepmother had taken him aside to confess that it had been necessary to force the girl to comply with the king’s order. What had they done to her? Denied her a few meals, most likely. That mattered nothing to him. What mattered was her reluctance. He had riddled himself with guilt over his bride’s high expectations, and now it seemed she didn’t want him! He, who could have chosen a wife from all the beauties at court, was stuck with a reluctant bride!

He should have sent them all packing. He had a perfect excuse, having been outraged when the marriage contract was read. Whoever heard of a woman’s dowry being left in her hands after she was wed? But Sir William had remained adamant. It must be done according to his late wife’s wishes, and she had left the lands to the girl. He had signed that absurd contract, which was as binding as the marriage itself, and look what it had gained him—a girl no bigger than a child who’d had to be forced to marry him! By Christ’s holy blood, he was beginning to wonder if he was cursed.

Leonie felt the ring shoved none too gently over her white-gloved finger. Next the priest bade her husband
bestow on her the kiss of peace that ended the ceremony. Rolfe did not try to lift her veil, but brushed his lips over the general area of her forehead. A short mass followed, and then she was led from the chapel by her husband.

Leonie wanted only to leave the hall and his presence, but the wedding feast began immediately and she was forced to sit next to him at the lord’s table. Her father was there, silently drowning himself in drink. Her husband began to do the same, and she wished she could follow his example. The mood was gloomy at best, Judith the only one who seemed pleased with events. She was also the only one who kept the lord’s table from being completely silent, carrying on conversations and subtle flirtations with two of the Black Wolf’s knights.

Leonie’s husband said not a single word to her. To queries from his men, he simply grunted. A trencher of food had been set before the newlyweds to share, but neither of them touched the food, Leonie because she would not raise her veil in public, and Rolfe because he preferred wine.

There were other knights in the hall, a few with their ladies, and there were even some children. But no one behaved as such an occasion usually warranted. Leonie knew it was her presence that put a damper on everyone’s mood, and she could hardly blame people for feeling uncomfortable around her. They must surely wonder at her pitiful condition, enshrouded and silent.

She tried to leave once, but her husband’s heavy hand on her arm stayed her. She did not try again. There was dancing, but she hardly noticed. She dared not look directly at Rolfe, but she watched his large hands gripping his wine cup.