“Don’t you fret about him, m’lady. His nursemaid’s taken him off to an early bed.”
Thank God for that. Jamie had grown used to having free rein of the castle in Rayburn’s absences. It would not be easy to keep him out of FitzAlan’s way.
Catherine mustered a smile for Alys and let FitzAlan lead her to the table. Cook and the other kitchen servants had worked a minor miracle to provide them with an impromptu wedding feast. She knew they did it for her. She appreciated their kindness, but she was far too tense to eat a bite.
She took a piece of bread and looked down at the table, barren of adornment. She could not help thinking of her wedding at Monmouth Castle. Despite the servants’ efforts, this one could not be more different from the first.
Monmouth was where her friend Harry—PrinceHarry now—had spent most of his childhood, so she’d been there many times before her wedding. Still, she had never seen it so crowded with guests, all dressed in expensive silks and velvets. The Mass was long, the wedding feast elaborate, the entertainment endless.
She had been so anxious to perform her part with dignity, she scarcely gave a thought to what awaited her in the bedchamber. Perhaps it would have been different if she’d had a mother to warn her.
She thought fleetingly of the wild midnight ride she took the night before her marriage. If she had known what her life with Rayburn would be like, would she have kept riding?
She thought of the young man who accompanied her that night. ’Twas a shame she had no face to go with the memory of him. When he knocked her to the ground, she was so terrified she noticed nothing beyond the sheer size of him. Later, she saw the outline of his shoulder-length hair, but his features above the full beard were always in shadow.
In sooth, he’d seemed all hair and beard to her.
Her thoughts were so tumultuous that night, and they had been followed by her first harrowing night with Rayburn. It was surprising her recollection of the young man had not been lost altogether beneath the layers of terrible memories since.
But she did remember him. The warmth of his large hand holding hers as they sat watching the river. The tickle of his beard against her skin in that brief kiss. The unexpected comfort of his arms when he held her at the end.
What she remembered most clearly and held to her heart, though, was the young man’s kindness and gallantry. When her life was at its lowest ebb, it was this memory that saved her.
William stole glances at his new wife as they ate, though she was so lovely it made him ache to look at her. When she entered the hall, he thought his heart would stop. The gown she wore hugged and flowed, showing every feminine curve and line. And how could eyes be that blue? He had no notion how long he stood gaping before he went to greet her.
She was tearing her bread to bits now. It wounded his pride to see how wretched and tense the woman was. God knew, she was not a virgin bride, with reason to fear the unknown. She had shared a man’s bed for years and borne him a child. Admittedly, he was a stranger to her. He would expect her to feel some unease. Yet, her reaction was so extreme he could not help feeling it as a personal slight.
What did the woman think? That he would throw her on the floor and force himself upon her the moment the bedchamber door closed?
Lord above, he did want her enough to take her like that. He could think of little else except having her naked beneath him. Still, it was disturbing that what he looked forward to with such lust, she so obviously dreaded. Once he had her alone, he was confident he could change that. When a man has no wealth of his own and no real status, he knows why women come to his bed. And why they return.
It was not good for a man to want his wife this much. Surely, once he bedded her a few times, he would be over his obsession. Perhaps it would take a few dozen times. His palms were sweaty and his breath came fast just thinking of it.
He was a fool to be disappointed she did not recognize him from that night long ago. True, he had filled out since then, and he no longer wore a beard. He should thank his lucky stars she did not know him as the bedazzled young man who lost his judgment and gave in to her whims.
He turned to look at her again. She was gazing off at nothing, her lips curved up in a slight smile. A wave of longing came over him. God help him, but he hoped a time would come when she would think of him and smile that same dreamy smile. Aye, she already had too much power over him without reminding her of that night.
He would make sure, however, she did not forget their wedding night.
He touched her arm.
She jolted upright and turned wide eyes on him.
“Everyone is waiting,” he said in a low voice. “ ’Tis time for us to go up to the bedchamber.”
From the look of horror on her face, he might have said he was going to take her there on the table, with all the guests watching. He took her arm and helped her to her feet. The castle household clapped and shouted as they followed them across the hall toward the stairs.
God’s beard, the lady was shaking! Where was the bold woman who met him at the gate a few hours ago?
They had made short shrift of many of the usual traditions with this hasty marriage, so he felt no compunction about turning the crowd back before they reached the bridal bedchamber. After barring the solar door behind them, he turned to face his bride.
She looked like a goddess, with her head held high and her chin out. But her eyes gave her away. He would have done anything to wipe away the fear he saw there.
He was at a loss as to how he should approach her. Glancing about, he was relieved to see that someone had had the foresight to leave them wine and bread and cheese. Though the refreshments were meant to revive the newlyweds after their efforts in the bedchamber, he could use the diversion now.
“Come sit with me and share some wine,” he said, gesturing to the small table.
Catherine’s shoulders seemed to relax just a bit. “Thank you, Lord FitzAlan.”
