Medieval Brides. Anne Herries

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      He gestured around the Hall. ‘This is Fulford Hall,’ he said, in clear but heavily accented English.

      ‘Yes, that is good.’

      ‘My name is Adam Wymark. I am a Breton knight. You are the Lady Cecily of Fulford. You are Saxon and you are my betrothed. We will be married tomorrow before Advent commences.’

      ‘Begins. Yes, very good,’ Cecily said, astonished at Adam’s swift progress. She lowered her eyes to hide a growing sense of alarm. Had he overheard her conversation with Edmund? She prayed not. He had only begun to learn, so his understanding must be poor, mustn’t it?

      ‘Wilf and Father Aelfric have been trying to teach me,’ Adam said, reverting to Norman French. ‘You see, like Herfu, I am not just a soldier, I am also a linguist.’

      ‘I see that.’ Saints, the one thing Cecily did not need was a husband with a swift turn of mind…

      ‘Now, this is where I will need your help,’ he continued. ‘How do you say, “I hope our marriage will be a successful one”?’

      Successful, she noted, with a ridiculous pang she immediately dismissed. He had said successful. Not happy or loving, but successful. Nevertheless, she repeated his phrase for him in English.

      Adam repeated the words after her.

      ‘Very good,’ she said, genuinely impressed. Heaven help them, Adam did indeed have a good brain.

      As though she had spoken this last thought aloud, Adam looked meaningfully down the board to where Edmund leaned on his elbow, chewing a drumstick. A dark brow lifted. ‘And how do you say, “I will not tolerate disloyalty of any kind from anyone, be they serf, or soldier or…”’ his gaze shifted back to her ‘“…or even my wife.”?’

      Cecily lifted her chin. He must have overheard her conversation with Edmund! He must have understood it! Calm, Cecily, calm. That is not possible. Adam had been too far away and Edmund had spoken quietly.

      ‘Well?’ he urged. ‘How do you say that in your tongue?’

      Stumbling over the words, Cecily told him.

      And, haltingly but clearly—oh, yes, very clearly—with his green eyes boring into her, Adam repeated the words after her.

      He would not tolerate disloyalty. A piece of meat stuck in her throat. Blindly, she reached for the wine cup.

      The wine was indeed smooth, but Cecily hardly tasted it. Her head felt as though it would burst, there were so many secrets and so much to hide from him.

      Adam was leaning on the table, addressing Sir Richard, but the words flowed over her. Adam had a quick mind, and, as he had just warned her, he was not only a soldier. If she did not tread warily he would be bound to discover at least one of her secrets. He had too much charm—especially for an enemy. It was dangerous. She was not used to dealing with men and she had no defences against charming ones—even, it seemed, when Duke William had sent them. Adam tempted her to lower her guard, and in those unguarded moments her liking for him was growing beyond her wildest imaginings. He pleased her eyes too much. That was part of the trouble. She wanted to smile at him and watch him smile back. And then there were the butterflies.

      She took another sip of wine, the wine Sir Richard said he had bought with her in mind, and her head throbbed.

      In the wake of Hastings how could Lady Cecily Fulford and Sir Adam Wymark possibly have a successful marriage? How could she ever be his loyal wife?

      Adam’s warning about disloyalty robbed the chicken of its flavour. He observed her continuously—outwardly content, smiling whenever their glances chanced to meet, the perfect knight, giving his lady the best cuts of meat, ensuring their goblet was filled with the sweet red wine. But unspoken threats hung over her head, and the fear that he was merely biding his time, waiting for her to make a mistake, was fast becoming a certainty.

      On the other hand there was the wine…

      From Sir Richard’s comment she surmised that Adam’s taste was for a sharper brew, but in this, as in every outward sign, he had deferred to her. It was a sham, though. It must be. A sham he kept up for the sake of the villagers. His quiet warning had been a timely reminder. She would not forget it. She wanted peace as much as he. In that, at least, they shared a common goal.

      Adam touched her arm. ‘My lady?’

      His green eyes softened as he looked down at her, and in the flare of the torchlight they were dark with promise. It is a lie. It is a lie. ‘Sir?’

      ‘Something is troubling you?’

      ‘Aye,’ she admitted, before she could stop herself.

      His hand slid gently over hers, and she repressed the urge to cling. Chastising herself for her weakness, Cecily gazed at the long, sword-callused fingers, at the bitten nails, at his warrior’s hand. A hand that had raised a sword against her people and yet had only ever touched her with careful, gentle consideration. Adam Wymark had a touch that, were he a Saxon Thane chosen for her by her father, might be called loving. She frowned.

      ‘You are thinking about tomorrow?’ he asked, nodding at Brian Herfu to remove the first course. At the far end of the board Harold and Carl scrambled to their feet. Dishes clattered.

      ‘I…’ Cecily racked her brain for a worry that she might give him—one that would not involve betraying anyone’s trust. ‘I…Wh-where will everyone sleep tonight?’

      Adam’s brow cleared, and his fingers squeezed hers. ‘That is all that concerns you? I thought…’He shook his head. ‘No matter.’ He waved his arm about the hall. ‘Surely they will sleep here?’

      ‘Saxon alongside Frank? They will not like it.’

      Stiffening, he released her hand and sat back. Saints, he had thought she was referring to their marriage. She stole a glance at him from under her eyelashes. His expression was remote, but for an instant he had looked…hurt. Surely she had not that power over him? No, it was merely his pride that was injured…

      She kept her voice light. ‘Tell me, when you first arrived here, how many of my father’s people slept in the Hall?’

      He shrugged. ‘Not many, I own. But I could not say precisely, since I took the loft room.’

      On her other side, Richard stirred. He had been gazing at Matty, at the other end of the trestle. Setting his cup down, he smiled and winked in her direction. Matty flushed like a rose. Sir Richard grinned. ‘I can see at least one Saxon I wouldn’t mind bedding down with.’

      ‘Sir Richard!’ Cecily glared. She knew very well what Sir Richard’s absence from the Palace hall in Winchester had meant, and she wasn’t about to have him treat the womenfolk of Fulford in like manner. She opened her mouth to say as much, but Adam’s hand stayed her.

      ‘No, Richard,’ he said, firmly. ‘That girl is not for you.’

      Richard looked down the board at Matty. Matty smiled shyly back. Her fear of the newcomers seemed to have vanished like morning mist.

      ‘No?’ Sir Richard said softly, СКАЧАТЬ