man’s discomfort.
‘As I said, she is an arrogant young woman, with an exaggerated view of her own importance. I feel sure she will benefit enormously from the security and mastery that a strong husband will provide.’ He eyed Robert, then looked away with a dismissive shrug. ‘She will be at the wedding, Sir Robert, I promise you.’
‘I am very glad to hear it.’ The suppressed fury in Robert’s voice was almost tangible. ‘And once we are married, I shall have to teach my wife some manners, which is not what I expected to have to do to so great a lady.’ He seized his goblet from the table. ‘Wine!’ he shouted at the staring servants, ‘wine and then supper and tomorrow we have a wedding!’
X
Eleyne was woken next morning at first light and, still in her bed gown, was summoned from the bedchamber into the solar where the fire had just been lit. It flared brightly, without warmth. Stephen was sitting in her chair in front of it and with him were two men-at-arms. Between them stood Rhonwen. There were chains on her wrists.
Stephen squinted up at Eleyne, taking in her long flowing hair, her bare throat and the cleavage of white bosom where she clutched the gown around her.
‘Good morning, my lady.’ He smiled. ‘I have come to wait for you. When you are dressed in your wedding finery, we shall go down together to the chapel where Sir Robert is expecting you.’
Eleyne had gasped at the sight of Rhonwen. ‘What is Lady Rhonwen doing here? Why is she in chains?’
Stephen inclined his head. ‘Oh come, my lady, you are an intelligent woman. Surely I do not have to spell it out for you? Lady Rhonwen is wanted by the authorities on charges of murder, necromancy and poisoning. She is implicated too, I understand, in the charges against you. I would be doing everyone a service if I hanged her without further delay…’
Rhonwen caught her breath in terror and Stephen smiled more broadly. ‘Exactly. I
Eleyne glared at him. ‘This is unspeakable – ’
‘It is your doing, my lady. Had you agreed to obey your king, I should have had no need to use such a lever. Make ready.’ He turned to one of the men-at-arms who produced a coil of rope. He proceeded to throw one end over one of the ceiling beams and the other he knotted into a noose. Deftly he slipped it over Rhonwen’s head.
Eleyne ran towards him, but the man pushed her back.
‘No! You can’t do this!’
‘I can, my lady.’ Stephen narrowed his eyes. ‘But I won’t, if you obey me. Go now and put on your wedding gown.’ His voice had lost its customary quietness and was harsh.
Rhonwen’s face was grey; she had not said a word.
Eleyne stared at her in despair, then slowly turned towards the bedchamber. ‘I shall expect to see that rope gone and the chains removed before I come back into this room.’
Stephen laughed mockingly. ‘I am afraid you expect in vain, madam. The rope will be removed after your vows are made and not before.’
The gown was cloth of silver. She had refused to allow it to be fitted so it hung loosely around her waist, but the effect was one of ethereal beauty as Eleyne walked across the inner court to the door of the chapel where the bishop was waiting to celebrate the marriage.
Her husband-to-be was also dressed in silver, with a scarlet-lined cloak over his mantle. He was indeed tall, taller than Eleyne, and very slim, his dark face austerely handsome beneath a heavy black beard, his eyes a clear nut-brown. He gazed at her for a long minute, his face cold.
‘Madam.’ He held out his hand. Eleyne inclined her head. Her hand, when she gave it to him, was ice-cold.
The vows took only a few minutes, then they processed into the chapel and stood side by side before the altar. Eleyne was numb. She had looked only once at her husband: his eyes had been alight with greed.
After the mass Eleyne stopped on the steps of the chapel. The procession which had formed behind them stopped too. She withdrew her hand from her husband’s arm and turned to Stephen Seagrave, who stood immediately behind the Earl and Countess of Lincoln.
‘Send Rhonwen to me. Now.’
Stephen bowed. ‘All in good time, my lady…’
‘Now,’ she repeated, her voice icy. ‘I do not move from here until she comes to me.’
Robert turned a speculative look on his new wife, but said nothing.
Stephen hesitated. He glanced at Lord Lincoln and raised an eyebrow. Receiving an imperceptible nod, he turned back to Eleyne. ‘Very well. It serves no purpose to detain her any longer. Fetch her.’ He snapped the order at one of the clerks standing near him.
The procession remained where it was in the freezing November wind. Eleyne was so cold she could barely feel her hands or feet, but still she did not move. Her head held high she stood without looking at her husband. Behind her, the chapel congregation waited, whispering among themselves.
When Rhonwen appeared, the chains had been removed. She was pale but smiling.
‘Now. Perhaps we can go in to the wedding feast?’ John de Lacy said, his voice pained.
Eleyne stepped away from her husband and kissed Rhonwen’s pale cheek. ‘Are you all right?’
Rhonwen nodded. ‘You saved my life,
‘Yes.’ For a moment Eleyne looked at Rhonwen, her face bleak. Then she turned to her husband’s side.
The nuptial bed had been set up in the castle’s great guest chamber, and there at last Eleyne found herself alone with Robert de Quincy. He had drunk a great deal at the feast and his handsome face was flushed. He had insisted on watching as his wife’s gown was removed by Luned and Nesta, and as Rhonwen, tight-lipped, had brushed out her hair. Eleyne had kept on her shift and had pulled over it the velvet bed gown. Now she turned to him; he was still fully dressed.
‘Do you wish me to call your servants, sir?’
He smiled. ‘There is no need, you can undress me.’
She stared at him. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you, wife. You can be my servant.’ His voice was insolent. Stephen Seagrave’s advice had been clear enough: his arrogant young wife had to be mastered. And if in mastering her he indulged some of his favoured pleasures, so much the better. He would begin at once. He stuck his feet out in front of him as he lounged in the heavy carved chair. ‘Remove my shoes first.’
Eleyne hesitated and his face darkened. ‘You have just promised before God to obey me, woman. Remove my shoes.’
‘I am not your servant,’ she retorted hotly, her eyes flashing with indignation. She walked across to the door and pulled it open. ‘Call Sir Robert’s manservant,’ she said to the guard outside. Closing the door, she turned to him. ‘Do you know who I am?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Yes, you are my wife.’
‘I am the Countess of Chester, sir, a title I shall keep until the day I die as you have none to give me.’
The door opened and a man peered around it. ‘You sent for me, Sir Robert?’
‘No,’ Robert leaned back in his chair, ‘I did not. My lady wife will wait on me. You may go, Edward, I shall not need you again tonight.’ He waited until the door closed, then he stood up. He walked across to Eleyne and stood in front of her, smiling.
She did not see the blow coming. His hand moved so fast she had no time to dodge and his open palm caught her full across the face. He smiled again. ‘It seems a pity that the whole castle will see from your bruises that I have had to chastise my wife so soon.’ He folded his arms as she regained her balance. ‘I understand that woman you summoned after the wedding service is a common murderer,’ he went on, his voice very quiet. ‘Master
