Lavender Vows

silent when she saw Cleome’s eyes barely flicker as Bernard traced a large finger over the top of her pointed head and down to rub her side.

“’Tis a miracle,” she murmured, watching as his hand traced the thick fur down to Cleome’s tail again and again. His hand was so wide and brown that it nearly covered the cat’s entire abdomen, and she watched with mingled fear and fascination as such a powerful appendage was used so gently.

I should be afraid, Joanna realized dimly, of this great man whose presence had filled the doorway. But she was not, and that was in itself a unique experience. Instead, she sat quietly on a stool Leonard had put in the corner and watched as he stroked the cat in silence, thanking the Virgin that she’d already covered the parcel in the corner with straw.

She glanced briefly toward the shadowed corner to reassure herself that it would not be noticed, then returned her attention to the countenance of the man, noting the tight, dark curls that covered his head in an unfashionably short style. His face was lean and sober, with deep-set eyes that had held no challenge when he’d greeted her earlier. The tan of his hand was echoed in the color of his face, and the wiriness of his dark hair in the short-clipped beard and moustache he wore.

“You have a gift,” she said at last, breaking what had become an easy silence.

He nodded once, turning a glance toward her that lingered over her face. “Aye. ’Tis my blessing that animals find no fear of me. My father—”

He was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching, and Joanna stood with a sudden fear clutching her middle, unable to keep a small gasp from her throat. God and the Virgin help her if she were discovered alone with such a man.

It was Leonard this time, thank Mary, and the discomfort in her stomach eased. But she must return to the keep now, for she’d been away too long and did not want to be missed.

Now ignoring the giant man, who watched her as she spoke to the stable boy, she told him to keep watch of the litter and where to move them should aught disturb the mother and her kittens. Then, with a quick glance at the giant, she dropped the slightest of curtseys and began to take her leave.

“My lady, allow me to escort you to your destination,” he offered, extending his arm.

“Nay!” Joanna took a breath and continued, “Nay, sir, but I must not be seen with—not be seen with anyone. I can find my way without assistance.” She bent to gather her light cloak and, doing so, noticed that one of her braids had fallen from its mooring. Joanna bit her lip and reached behind to re- fasten the recalcitrant braid, knowing that if she returned to the hall and it was noticed, she would be the worse for it.

The giant stepped toward her, behind her, towering over her small frame as she attempted to twist her arms in the most awkward position.

“Allow me, my lady.” His smooth voice, warm and deep, seemed to slide over her like a fur cloak. Her heart pounding, Joanna forced herself to remain still as his warm, deft fingers relieved her own of the rope of hair. In a trice, he had found its place and secured it with one of the jeweled pins her maid had used earlier. Then, mercifully, he moved away.

“Th-thank you, sir.” She hated that her voice quavered, but ’twas so foreign to have a man so close to her, so gentle, yet so imposing. “And now, I must return.”

Bernard could only watch her go, hurrying down the hall of the stable. Though he felt uneasy with her request to let her go alone, he abided by her wishes and stayed until she was safely out of sight.

Then, he turned to Leonard, the stable boy who now knelt beside the grey cat, and asked, “Who is the lady? What is her name?”

“’Twas Lady Joanna, my lord.”

Bernard bit back a grin. At the least the young boy had recognized his station, although the Lady Joanna had not. “An’ how does she know this stable so well?”

“She is my lord’s daughter—the Lord of Wyckford’s daughter.”

“The sister of the bride, then?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Then Bernard suddenly remembered that he had been invited to a wedding, that his father would surely miss him by now…and that he had dallied long enough.

And, at the nonce, he would search out the lady to see if he could find her within the keep.

~ * ~

Unfortunately for Bernard, when he returned to the great hall, most of the men—bridegroom included— were in their cups, and the celebration had begun to wane. Since the musicians had begun to disperse,and the dancing slowed—and even the wine and ale began to dry up—the only entertainment that remained was to see the bride and groom off to the bridal chamber.

’Twas of little interest to Bernard to see the spindly-legged groom stripped naked and escorted to his bride’s chamber, but he did not decline too strongly and soon found himself within the group of men doing just that.

They made the usual bawdy jests, drank from jugs of ale and attempted to force more down the throat of the already dazed groom as others helped him out of his tunic, undertunic, and chausses.

“Give ’er all ye got,” encouraged one man, slapping the groom on the bare skin of his back.

Another gestured to the groom’s flaccid member, chortling, “Ye might need some help, there, eh, Will? Just call out and I’ll step in your place.”

“Eh, I trow Will will keep the bitch in line,” grated a voice next to Bernard. “Don’t need much more than a raised hand—an’ she’ll be doin’ your bidding as you please.” The man, obviously well into his cups, swayed against Bernard, causing his perpetually-full cup of ale to slosh onto his tunic. “Have a care, sirrah,” he warned, leaning threateningly into Bernard’s face. “Ye’ve spilt on my new tunic!”

Bernard, hardly able to breathe from the stench of ale emanating from the man, chose to ignore the rough drunkard and turned away. Aside of that, he’d recognized the man as Lord Ralf, one of the sons by law of Lord Wyckford, and allowed that the man had probably been celebrating the wedding for far longer and more deeply than he should have.

When Bernard felt a hard shove from behind, however, he whirled, automatically clapping a hand to where his dagger hung. “Aye?” he asked, coming face to face with the drunkard. “Did you wish to speak with me?”

The man’s eyes were nearly at a level of Bernard’s. There was a hard light behind the ale-glaze in them. “I said that ye spilled ale on my tunic, sirrah, and I would expect you to make recompense.”

“’Twas your own clumsiness that caused it, man. Do you not make a mistake you will later come to regret,” Bernard responded easily, but he allowed a hard warning to flare in his eyes. It was probably best not to participate in a scene with one of the family at a wedding celebration, regardless of what a cock-licker the man was.

From the belligerence in the other man’s face, he knew there might have been more of an altercation had not Lord Wyckford announced that the bridal chamber was ready to receive the groom. With a lethal look at Bernard, Ralf pushed none-too-gently away from him to stand beside Will, the groom.

The group of men tottered along the passageway, trading more bawdy comments and suggestions for Will, and Bernard followed their progression. He’d realized somewhere along the way that as sister to the bride, the young woman he’d met in the stables would likely be there at the bedding ceremony.

~ * ~

The door to the bridal chamber opened, and a flood of men pushed their way in. Joanna stood near the fire, chafing the icy hands of her sister, the bride, who was about to be disrobed.

The scents of men and ale and smoke filled the room, along with that of stale, panting breath and loud exchanges. Joanna felt a familiar wave of anxiety at their closeness, the crowdedness of the chamber, and her sister swayed slightly, clutching at Joanna’s hand in the folds of her gown.

“Shh, ’twill soon be over,” she murmured into Ava’s ear, smoothing a hand over her shoulder, even as she curled the fingers on her other hand into a tight fist. “And when you and Will are alone—”

“Bring forth the bride and groom!” intoned the priest, pushing through the crowd of men.

Waves of bawdy laughter and noises rose and roared, filling the room as the men shoved Will forward. The slim man stumbled but caught himself on the tall spindle of the bed and leered at Ava with the vacant eyes of one who had imbibed overmuch.

Joanna gently pushed her sister forward, and, blocking from her mind the memories of her own wedding