His Captive Lady (19 page)

But Erica scarcely left the solar; she sat alongside Rose, sewing her trousseau with a heavy heart. She ate in the solar and slept alongside the other unmarried ladies, disparagement of any sort was not to be countenanced in Winchester Castle. William De Warenne must hold Wulf in the highest regard. Why else would Wulf have been entrusted with the task of escorting her here?

Erica relished the warmth of the solar after the dank cold of the fens, she relished Rose's company, she relished plentiful food after months of privation in East Anglia. But Erica missed Solveig, she missed Morcar and Cadfael. She missed Ailric and Hereward and could not stop worrying about what had happened to them. She missed Wulf, too. He had said he had duties to attend to. What duties? Where was he? Not that she should permit herself to think of him, not when she was shortly to be married to someone 'fitting'. But she should at least have insisted that Wulf tell her
exactly
what had happened to Ailric and Hereward after that battle in the fens. He had been very vague.

On Candlemas Eve, shortly after nightfall, the dinner bell sounded.

Rozenn smoothed down the heavy silk gown she had just eased Erica into and stood back to examine her with a critical eye. Of darkest midnight blue, the gown fitted her like a glove. Silk lacings at the sides defined her shape, the neck was slashed low at the bosom. Too low? Erica gave it a surreptitious tug.

'Non, non.'
Rose made a tutting sound and pulled it back. She had embroidered tiny silver stars along the neckline and hem.
'Bien, tres bien.'
Rose smiled and, before Erica realised what she was doing, had clipped a silk girdle about her waist. Out of nowhere Rose produced a gauzy veil, which she secured into place with a headband that flashed when it caught the light. Silver filigree.

'What's this?'

Rose shrugged. 'It is yours, it was brought up to the solar today. A gift.'

'From whom?'

Rose sent her a coy look. 'Your intended, perhaps?'

Erica felt the blood drain from her face. 'It...it's not tonight, is it?'

'What?'

'M...my marriage, it's not tonight?'

Rose sent her a strange look. 'I am sure there is no need to fear. Come, my lady--'

'Please, Rose, do call me Erica. I would like to think we may be friends.'

'Merci.'
Rose held out her hand. 'Come, Erica. Tonight we dine in the great hall.'

'Rose...' Erica hung back '...it's not tonight, is it? Please tell me.'

Rose gave her one of those careless, Frankish shrugs and led her to the stairwell and Erica could not be sure that Rose had understood her question.

As they stepped through the archway and into the hall, the warmth of the fire came to greet them, bringing with it the smells of roast pork, of mulled wine and mead, of rich spices from some unknown land. Erica and Rose sank onto a bench at one of the tables set at an angle to the high table where the great Norman lords sat. Erica had never felt so ill at ease. Her mouth felt dry as she looked for William De Warenne but she could not see him. Thank the Lord. Her marriage could not take place without the blessing of the new Lord of Lewes. She did, however, recognise the knight that Wulf had greeted on the day they had arrived, Sir Richard of Asculf, the garrison commander.

Breathing more easily, Erica smoothed down the blue gown. Her eyes went in search of Wulf, but she could not see him either. Had he left Winchester? Perhaps he had new orders. If so, she might not see him again. Her throat tightened.

'Madame?'
A serving girl was offering her wine. Nodding, Erica shifted her cup so that it could be filled.

Noise. She was sitting in the Great Hall in Winchester Castle surrounded by people, Franks, for the most part, laughing and talking in that foreign tongue of theirs. Her father would turn in his grave. So many Franks, she thought, shooting a sidelong glance at Rose, Rose whom she liked. She sighed. It made her head spin, the way the world was changing.

A lute-player was strolling past their table; he was dressed like a prince in a green silk tunic edged with gold braid. Yet more gold braid wound round his hose. Catching Rose's hand as he passed, the lute-player lifted it flamboyantly to his lips, but it was no kiss that Erica witnessed--no, she was certain she saw him nibble at Rose's fingertips in a gesture that was both loving and familiar. Erica's heart twisted with longing for something that would never be hers. The lute-player's eyes were dark and they sparkled in the candlelight. Rose flushed and bit back a grin, and he muttered something incomprehensible in yet another foreign tongue.

'Who is that?' Erica asked as the lute-player continued on up to the top table, tossing easy greetings right and left. 'What did he say?'

'Benedict. My husband.' Her grin escaped her. 'He is something of a...how do you say...of a flirt. He spoke in Breton, but it would not be--' her flush deepened '--seemly to repeat what he said.'

A platter of meat, swimming in its juices, landed on the trestle.

Erica was reaching for her eating knife when an arrival at the top table caught her eye. Wulf! She froze.

Wulf was approaching the garrison commander, Sir Richard. Breath suspended, Erica could only watch as they exchanged greetings. It was good to see him, even if all she could see was that broad back. Blindly, she reached for her wine and took a sip, frowning at him over the rim. He was wearing clothes she had not seen before, a tunic the colour of blackberries and a black belt that matched his hose. She smiled. Blue cross-gartering. Of course. She could not seem to tear her gaze away. It was so good to see him. She willed him to look her way.

So much for will--Wulf did not so much as glance in her direction. He muttered in Sir Richard's ear and the knight looked up to make some reply. Wulf nodded, turned on his heel and those long legs carried him out.

Gone.

Misery filled her. Not so much as a glance.

When Rose pulled the meat platter towards her, Erica shook her head--she had lost her appetite.

'Rose, I...I need some air.'

Rose was busy piling her own platter with meat. She smiled, abstractedly. 'Yes, it is noisy in here.' Waving a boy over, she addressed him in a rapid undertone before jerking her head towards a side door. It was opposite the one that Wulf had gone through. 'I would go that way, if I were you. Ronan will show you the way to the chapel, it is the most peaceful place.'

Erica was ushered down a corridor that ran the length of the hall. Candles glowed in wall sconces and the rich tapestries that were hanging on the walls shivered in stray drafts. Wondering if Rose was responsible for the tapestries, Erica nodded her thanks at the serving boy and continued down the corridor. The boy slipped back into the hall.

With every step down the corridor the hubbub behind her diminished. This was what she needed. Peace. Vespers would be long over, the chapel would be deserted. Erica had been glad of Rose's company, but the solar with its chattering Frankish ladies had been far from peaceful these past few days. She needed to gather her thoughts, to prepare herself for her forthcoming marriage, to whomsoever it was. She needed to find a measure of calm.

She padded past a guttering candle, which made a monster of her shadow, and found herself facing an oak-planked door, the door to the Royal Chapel. It opened silently to her touch. The sanctuary light glowed red, altar candles flickered. The skirts of Erica's blue gown swept the floor as she approached the altar and dropped to her knees. Bowing her head, she put her hands together and tried to pray.

'Erica?'

It was only a whisper, but she knew at once who it was and was on her feet in an instant.
'Wulf!'

He had been leaning against the chapel wall, a tall shadow half-hidden by a statue of Our Lady. Coming towards her, he reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. He was smiling. She was smiling, too, like a fool, she could not help it.

'Sir Richard does not accompany you?' he asked, glancing at the door.

'Sir Richard?'

'No matter.' Wulf lifted her hand to his lips.

She swallowed--he
had
been thinking of her, she had not been not forgotten! 'Did you want to see me?' Erica knew she should not ask, but she wanted, no, she
needed
to hear him admit it.

Wulf was caressing the back of her hand, sending darts of pleasure shooting up her arm. Nodding, he stepped closer, eyes dark and fathomless, breath warm on her cheek. 'Could you doubt it?
Ma belle
--'

She took a step herself, closing the space between them. When they were standing breast to breast in the shadowed chapel, she found his other hand and clung.

Wulf's head dipped. His scent surrounded her, befuddling her as it always did. Just when she thought he would kiss her, heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor. They moved quickly apart.

The candlelight shivered as the door opened. 'I see you found the chapel, my lady.' Sir Richard's English was heavily accented. 'I was scouring the hall for you.'

'Sir?' Wulf smiled; he had not released her hand and unwittingly Erica shrank closer to his side, blinking up at the knight. Sir Richard was not only commander of the Winchester garrison, he was one of King William's finest, or so Rozenn had told her, a landed knight with acres to his name in Normandy. Was this the 'someone fitting' that De Warenne had mentioned? His eyes were grey, amused. They were looking at her in such a way that she tugged at her veil, wondering if it was awry. Sir Richard was taller than most men, the equal to Wulf in height and build.

Was this the man she would have to marry?

'Erica, may I introduce Sir Richard of Asculf. Richard, this is Lady Erica.'

Richard? Wulf knew this knight well enough to dispense with his title? Heavens, this must indeed be the man De Warenne had in mind for her.
Swallowing down a rush of bile, Erica bowed her head in greeting and gripped Wulf's hand as though her life depended on it.

'G
ood evening, my lady.'

'G...good evening, Sir Richard.'

'Father Cuthbert will only be a moment,' Sir Richard said, smiling, just as Wulf let go of her hand. She felt as though he were abandoning her. 'Gil is helping him bring the candles ready for tomorrow's mass. Ah, here they are!'

Erica's feet were rooted to the spot. This night was to be her wedding night! But how could this be, when William De Warenne was not yet in Winchester? In a daze, she watched the priest bustle in with the boy Gil on his heels. Both were laden with candles.

'My thanks, lad,' Father Cuthbert said, depositing his candles on the altar and waving at Gil. 'Arrange these, will you?' The priest was Saxon, his voice betrayed him.

Gil nodded, bent his head in brief obeisance at the cross and began arranging the candles.

Married?
Tonight?
Without De Warenne? Erica's hand crept to her bracelets; round and round she twisted them, round and round. She flung Wulf a hunted glance, but he was occupied with greeting the priest.

Sir Richard of Asculf, Sir Richard of Asculf. Saint Swithun help her. Panic was taking hold of her, panic such as she had not felt before, not even in Guthlac's hall.

'Father...' Wulf smiled down at the priest '...I thank you for meeting us.'

The sanctuary light glowed red. As her heart thudded, Erica took several steadying breaths. How strange to feel panic here when back in the fens she had felt...nothing. She had felt quite numb, yet now...how very strange.

'Captain, you are welcome,' Father Cuthbert was saying. He turned to Erica with a smile. 'And this is the lady?'

'Aye, this is Lady Erica.'

'Her father was Thane of Whitecliffe?'

'Yes.'

'And you met her in East Anglia on your recent campaign?'

'Yes, Father.'

The priest nodded. 'Lady Erica, you are in agreement? You are content to marry this man?'

Erica blinked. Father Cuthbert was indicating Wulf, not Sir Richard! The relief was so intense that the words jammed in her throat. Vehemently, she nodded. Marry Wulf?
Yes
, indeed!

And then his warm fingers were on hers, peeling them from her bracelets, and her hand was engulfed in his larger one.

Dizzy with relief, Erica found her voice. 'I did tell De Warenne I would marry Wulf. But I need to have private speech with him first,' she managed.

Wulf led her into the shadows by the statue of Our Lady. 'Erica? You have not changed your mind since then?'

'No, no, for myself I would have this marriage,' she spoke in a swift undertone. 'I trust you personally, as a man. My instincts told me I could trust you in that regard back in Guthlac's hall, and they have not been proved wrong. But you kept your true identity hidden.'

Wulf grimaced. 'You are saying that politically you are unsure of me?'

'Yes. It.... it is the others I am concerned for, the people of Whitecliffe. What about them?'

Blue eyes held hers. 'Trust me, I am working to help them.' His mouth twisted. 'Erica, I need you to believe in me. My aim is to reconcile Saxon and Norman. I do not like this warring, it is as though I am fighting myself. Men on both sides are suffering and there is no need for it to continue. It strikes me that our marriage would be good in many ways.' A hand came up and briefly caressed her cheek. 'It is my belief that you and I, together, will accomplish much. You are wholly Saxon, and I, being half-Saxon, already have something of an understanding of what your people need.' He grimaced. 'If, that is, De Warenne will ever forgive me for breaking ranks and taking you without his permission. My pledge to you is that I will do my utmost for peaceful reconciliation. Trust me.'

Erica cleared her throat. 'And Ailric and Hereward? Are they in prison in Ely?'

'They are not, they are quite safe, Erica, you have my word. I hope you may see them shortly.'

She stared at him for the space of a heartbeat and then nodded. 'Very well.' Praying she had made the right decision, she looked at the priest. 'Father, I am happy to marry Captain FitzRobert.'

Father Cuthbert's face creased into a smile. 'Good, good,' he muttered. 'I would be loathe to risk De Warenne's anger if you were in any doubt.'

Sir Richard stepped into the light. 'I will endorse your judgement, Father, should De Warenne question it. Captain FitzRobert is a fitting match for this woman, his character is exemplary. I am proud to act as witness to his wedding.'

The priest gave a quick nod. 'So be it. Gil, lad, light those candles, will you? This is a wedding, not a funeral.'

As the smell of beeswax filled Erica's nostrils, she began to tremble. Wulf's fingers tightened. Warm, he is always warm. She clung to that thought while they exchanged their vows before a dozen glittering candles. This change of fortune was nothing less than stunning, particularly since she had not seen Wulf since their arrival in Winchester. But she felt as though a great weight was being lifted from her. She prayed her judgement was not at fault.

She was marrying Wulf! Not some unknown Norman noble who did not have a word of English, but Wulf, who, while he was not wholly Saxon, she could not help but like. Like? Admit it, girl, it is not mere liking you feel for this man, you are half in love with him and have been since the beginning.

Blinking, startled by the turn of her thoughts as she had never been in her life before, Erica murmured her vows in a soft, clear voice. Wulf made his responses firmly, standing straight and strong beside her. A man to depend upon. If only his lord were not King William's right-hand man. None the less, Wulf had sworn to help the people of Whitecliffe.

She emerged from her thoughts to find those blue eyes looking into hers. A question had been asked and she had not heard it. 'Wulf?'

'Get on with it, man.' Sir Richard grinned. 'Kiss her and have done.'

Wulf's dark head dipped, his lips pressed fleetingly to hers. He looked at the priest. 'That's it?'

All smiles, Father Cuthbert tucked his fists into the sleeves of his habit and nodded. 'You are man and wife, make each other happy.' His smile lost some of its force. 'Of late I have married too many Saxon noblewomen for reasons of state. It gladdens my heart to officiate over one based on love.'

Erica's cheeks burned and she ducked her head to examine the toe of her shoe, a narrow calfskin shoe that Rozenn Silvester had given her. Was it so obvious? Too embarrassed to meet Wulf's gaze, she nevertheless allowed him to take her arm and lead her out.

She did indeed love him, and he was half-Norman. And if that were not bad enough, she had married him. Willingly...

Wulf had many friends in Winchester Castle, friends who had joined with him in this...this conspiracy to see her wed, Erica realised as Wulf led her along a maze of corridors. He must have been planning this for some time. She could have wished that he had warned her but...Erica emerged from her thoughts to find that they were at the bottom of a spiral stairway in one of the towers. Wulf started up it, taking the stairs two at a time.

'Where are we going?'

'You'll see.'

Half of her was relieved by her sudden change in status, while half of her was angry, enough to hit him. Did Wulf not realise what he had put her through? For a few moments back in the chapel she had been misled into thinking that Sir Richard was to be her husband! Her nostrils flared. And as for Sir Richard, yes, he was definitely part of the conspiracy.

'Rozenn Silvester is your friend?' she asked, kilting up her skirts as she took the stairs behind him.

'Of course.'

'And her husband?'

'Yes, I count Ben my friend, too.' Wulf paused on a half-landing next to a studded oak door. A ribbon trailed from the door latch--no, a bow made from green, white and blue ribbons, plaited together. How strange. Tugging Erica towards him, Wulf dropped a kiss on her nose.

Erica scowled, and tried not to look at his mouth, tempting though it was. 'And Sir Richard?'

'Yes, his endorsement was...necessary. Particularly since some matters remain unresolved.'

Erica drew back, overcome with an urge to hug him to her, as tightly as was humanly possible. She had missed him, she had ached for him, the brute. 'In short, everyone knew but me.'

'Not everyone. Erica, there was--is--still need for secrecy, but--'

A cough floated up the stairwell; someone was coming.

'We'll talk inside.' Sliding an arm about her waist, Wulf lifted the latch and drew her in.

Stars, gold stars. They were in a turret room and the blue walls were covered with thousands and thousands of stars! And candles
everywhere
, more than there had been in the chapel, dozens of them, flickering softly. Beeswax by their scent. Erica halted just past the threshold, jaw agape as she looked about her. Wulf booted the door shut and leaned against it, observing her reaction.

Every surface glittered. The plaster walls and ceiling were painted with blue, one of the costliest of colours, made by the grinding of lapis lazuli. It looked as though the craftsman who had painted the room had taken the stars from the night sky and pinned them there. There was a large bed with a carved bedhead and fat bedposts to match. It had the deepest, most comfortable-looking mattress that Erica had ever laid eyes on and was heaped high with pillows and blankets. The folded-back sheets had the subtle sheen of silk. Candles glowed in wall sconces and, at the bedside, coals radiated heat from a brazier.

Wulf came to stand behind her, she could feel his breath on her neck.

'So much light,' she murmured, her anger against him losing its force. 'You remembered my dislike of the dark. And the stars--like that lantern in the fens.'

'Yes.'

'But a much better resting place than the fisherman's hut.'

'Yes'

'But, Wulf, should we be in here?' Her voice was hushed. 'I would think this chamber is intended for your king.'

Recognising that, while Erica was gently bred, she was as awed by their surroundings as he was, Wulf turned her towards him and lightly touched her cheek. 'I doubt it. Sir Richard found us this room and even Richard would not dare billet us in the King's chamber.'

Gil had found time to bring up their belongings; Wulf's pack sat at the foot of the bed, next to a bundle he recognised as Erica's. It gave Wulf an odd jolt to see their things stowed next to each other, a small outward sign of their marriage. Their
marriage
. They belonged together. It was odd, too, that this thought was not accompanied by irritation, or a longing to break free. On the contrary...

She drifted to the bed and picked up one of the embroidered cushions. 'This is very fine work.'

'Aye.' Wulf stared at her back, at the seductive curve of her hips and waist visible through the filmy excuse for a veil that Rozenn had made her. His wife, Erica was his
wife
.

'I like Rozenn.' His wife's fingers were lingering on a flower worked in gold thread. 'And it was kind of Sir Richard to find us this chamber. Wulf, why did you do it?'

'Hmm?'

'Our marriage--why the secrecy? You disobey De Warenne in marrying me like this.'

Again, he closed the distance between them and ran his finger down her neck and back up to her cheek. So soft. His throat was dry.

'It's my lands, isn't it? You want to secure my lands...'

Slowly Wulf shook his head. Her eyes were wide, great green eyes, staring up at him, reflecting the glow of the brazier, of the candles. 'Not the lands, Erica,
you
. I couldn't risk losing you.'

A tiny crease appeared in her brow. She did not believe him--well, for tonight, she did not have to believe him. She was his wife and that was what was important. With his thumb he smoothed the crease away and lowered his head. 'You did say you would have me,
ma belle
. And according to law, to
Saxon
law, consent between a man and a woman is enough to make a marriage.'

'You have become an expert on Saxon law?'

He smiled. 'This I know. The priest's blessing was desirable, but not necessary. And as for Sir Richard and Gil--they were present to bear witness to our marriage, but hear this, Erica, our consent alone was enough.'

Flushing, she murmured and made to turn away, but he caught her chin and kept his gaze on hers and gave her the lightest of kisses. Those dark lashes lowered, hiding her eyes from him. So beautiful. His
wife
.

He heard her swallow. The brazier brought the heat of summer into the tower room. 'Erica.'

Shaking her head, she pulled free. Her veil fluttered and her skirts swayed as she crossed to the curved wall. Slender fingers traced the outline of a painted star. Wulf sighed, wondering how the few short yards across the rush matting had become such a vast distance. He wanted to reassure her, but remembering what had almost happened to her in Guthlac's hall, he did not know how to begin. Most likely Erica had been dwelling on that. Yet she had consented to marry him and he was as certain as a man could be that Erica of Whitecliffe would understand Saxon marriage rituals as well as he...

But, brave though she was, Erica's spirit had been bruised in Guthlac's hall and shortly afterwards she had been told she was to marry a stranger. In Erica's mind there was probably little difference between being forced by Hrothgar and into such a marriage. She would not be human if she had not spent the past few days worrying about her likely fate with an unknown husband. Yes, Erica had consented to marry him, but had it been a
real
choice? Was he the lesser of two evils?

Wulf did not want to be the lesser of two evils, he wanted...

'
Ma belle
, you need never fear me.'

She looked across, smiled. 'Wulf, you have no need to tell me that.'

His heart lifted. 'I need to tell you about my sister, Marie, my half-sister, that is.' Seating himself on the bed, he dragged off a boot and dropped it onto the matting. 'She was a couple of years older than me. I did not meet her until my mother died and my father had me brought to Honfleur, but after that she and I became very close.'