emotional. 'He never used to be afraid of anything or anyone,' Elizabeth said. 'Father worried that he would never develop any common sense.' Sadness underlined her explanation.
Geoffrey seemed unaffected by her distress. 'He has seen much to change him.' He handed her a cup filled with sweet red wine before adding, 'In time your brother will mend. It is the way of things.'
And will I mend? Elizabeth asked herself. Will time make the memory of my mother's screams fade into insignificance? Will time make the murders less an atrocity? And if healing includes forgetting, then perhaps the wounds should stay raw and bleeding. I cannot put the hate aside, Elizabeth thought, not until Belwain is dead.
'Congratulations, my lady.' The softly spoken words and the familiar voice shocked Elizabeth. Her head jerked up and she met the stare of her mother's elderly servant, Sara.
'Sara,' she exclaimed with a smile. 'I thought you dead.' Elizabeth turned, the smile still in place, and said to her husband, 'My lord, may I present my mother's most loyal servant, Sara. Sara,' she said, turning her gaze back to the white-haired woman, 'my father's overlord, Baron Geoffrey William Berkley.'
'Nay, Elizabeth,' her husband contradicted against her ear, 'no longer your father's overlord but your husband.'
Elizabeth blushed slightly and nodded at the gentle reprimand. She would correct her error now. 'My husband, Sara…' she began. Her attention was distracted by the number of familiar-looking servants carrying platters of food into the hall. 'Where… how…'
'They have all returned, now that you are here,' Sara said, folding her hands in front of her. She was looking at Elizabeth but sensed the Baron's frown and quickly amended her sentence. 'When word was told that your husband had rid our home of the defilers, then we returned.'
The servant glanced at the lord and then lowered her eyes with respect. 'With your permission, my lord, I would help my lady prepare for bed this evening. Her serving girl was slain during the raid.'
Geoffrey nodded his consent. The servant smiled, reached out her hand as if to pat Elizabeth, and then thought better of it. Elizabeth caught the action and it was she who patted the servant. 'Thank you, Sara, and praise God that you are well,' she said.
When the servant had returned to her duties, Elizabeth turned back to her husband. There were tears in her eyes.
Geoffrey was amazed at her composure. There was a fragile strength about her. She was not like other women he had known, but he had recognized that fact from the beginning. A quiet dignity radiated from her. Her temper was quick to flare, Geoffrey knew, but the tears were closely guarded.
He wished to see her smile again. 'And do you wail as loud as your brother?' he asked her.
Elizabeth could not tell if he was teasing or not. 'I never wail,' she said, shaking her head. She thought then that her boast sounded terribly prim.
Her husband grinned with delight. 'And do you never smile at your husband?' he inquired against her ear.
The sweet, warm breath against her earlobe felt like a gentle stroke and Elizabeth found she had to pull away before she could answer. ' 'Tis too soon to tell,' she tried to tease, though her voice sounded like a husky whisper to her ears, 'I've only been married a few short minutes, my lord.' She lifted her gaze to his then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and Geoffrey was struck speechless by their intense color. She continued to become more magnificent, more desirable, and he wondered how that was possible.
'And are you pleased to be married?' he asked when he could find his voice.
'It will be a most difficult adjustment,' Elizabeth said, her voice serious. She continued to meet his stare and added, 'My husband is not well known by me and the stories about him are terrible indeed.'
Geoffrey was taken aback. He thought she might be jesting, the sparkle in her eyes told him that, but her expression was neutral and her voice most serious. He found he didn't know how to reply. No one had ever spoken to him in this manner. 'I am your husband,' Geoffrey said, frowning. 'What stories have you heard about me?' he demanded.
'Too many to count,' Elizabeth replied, trying not to laugh.
'I will hear them all!' His voice increased in volume, keeping pace with his escalating temper. As soon as he snapped the order, he wished he had not. He did not wish to frighten his bride on this their wedding night, but he obviously had. Elizabeth had turned her head away from him, shielding her face from his view. Now, as awkward as it might be, Geoffrey would try to soothe her. The problem, of course, was that he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.
He slammed his goblet down on the table to vent his frustration and then turned Elizabeth 's chin toward him with the tip of his finger. He decided that he would simply smile at her and then she would know that she was still in his good stead.
He was totally unprepared for the smile that formed her expression, the soft lilting laughter that reached his ears. 'I was teasing, husband. Please do not frown. I did not wish to upset you,' Elizabeth said, trying to control her smile.
'You are not afraid?' He found himself asking the absurd question and had to shake his head.
'You do not like to be teased?' Elizabeth answered his question with one of her own.
'I do not know if I like this teasing or not,' Geoffrey said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. Her smile was like the sun entering the damp, candle-casted room, warming him. 'Unless
Elizabeth laughed again and said, 'Then this marriage-'
'A toast!' The command came from Roger, in a loud, forceful voice. Elizabeth glanced up and saw that the vassal held a goblet high above his head. Balanced somewhat precariously on one shoulder was little Thomas, giggling while he held on to the knight's head of hair with both hands.
Geoffrey found himself irritated with the interruption. He had enjoyed the easy banter with his wife and wondered what she was about to say. He forced himself back to the festivities but first whispered to Elizabeth, 'Later, wife, you shall tell me these terrible stories about my character later.'
Keeping her stare directed on Roger and her brother, Elizabeth answered in a soft voice, 'Perhaps, my lord. Perhaps.'
A sense of lightness settled over Elizabeth with each sip of the warming wine. In fact, she felt warm all over, inside and out. 'Where have you found this wine, my lord? We are unaccustomed to such quality,' she said.
'Even when you celebrate?' Geoffrey asked with surprise.
'We drank ale on every occasion,' Elizabeth replied. 'And shared from each other's trenchers,' she added, referring to the wooden plates the servants were placing on the table.
'Your father was a wealthy man,' Geoffrey stated.
'Aye, but frugal,' Elizabeth said. She laughed then and leaned toward her husband, her hand casually resting over his. 'My grandfather used to tease my father something fierce over his tight purse,' she confessed in a conspiratorial voice.
'You have a fondness for your grandfather, don't you?' Geoffrey asked, smiling at her behavior.
'Yes, we are very alike,' she acknowledged. She took another sip of her wine and smiled at her husband over the rim of her goblet.
'Enough,' Geoffrey decreed, removing her goblet. 'I want you awake on our wedding night.'
His indelicate reminder of what was to come removed Elizabeth 's warmth. The smile faded and she lowered her gaze to her plate. She had eaten but a fraction of the quail pie and none of the swan or the wildberry tarts prepared for the celebration,
She watched as more and more delicacies were placed on the table. There were appreciative ohs and ahs when the cooked peacock, redressed in its skin and feathers, was placed before her. Geoffrey served her after he had washed his hands with the wet cloth his squire provided him. A page assisted Elizabeth.
The priest and several of Geoffrey's thegns joined the couple at the table. Little Thomas was not allowed to sit with them, due to his age and his position, but each time Elizabeth saw him, she noticed that his cheeks were as swollen as a chipmunk's with food. His manners were equal to her dogs, she thought, but soon he would become one of Geoffrey's pages and learn the correct way of things.
Several of the men broke out into verses of a popular and somewhat risque ballad. And then the red-haired squire, flushed with drink, began to sing in a deep baritone voice. The hall quieted and all listened to his song.
