Ariane scarcely heard a word. She felt dazed, wrapped in a cloud of joy, too distracted to concentrate on such material matters.
The next rite was delivered in Latin, the surrender of the bride by her father and mother. Ariane felt a bittersweet ache in her throat because her beloved mother could not be present for this moment, yet she was comforted by the knowledge that Lady Constance awaited her within the church, hidden in the chapel gallery. Her mother’s progress was alone cause for rejoicing. Layla’s strange remedy seemed to be having at least a modest affect on Constance’s ravaged skin, and the Saracen was optimistic that a full recovery eventually was possible.
Ariane was further gladdened by the note of pride in her father’s voice as he presented her to Ranulf, saying, “To you I confide my daughter Ariane. Keep her well.”
“Before God, I promise to shelter her,” Ranulf responded, clasping her ungloved hands and gazing deeply into her eyes.
When Father John had consecrated the ring, Ranulf slipped the small circlet of gold progressively over three fingers of Ariane’s right hand, before moving it to a final resting place on her left hand, where it would remain till her death, a pledge of faithfulness and fidelity. The metal, warmed by his touch, gleamed no brighter than the gold of her beloved’s eyes, she thought dazedly.
“With this ring I thee espouse,” Ranulf vowed solemnly to her in Latin, “with my body I thee honor, with my goods I thee endow.”
Only then did they enter the church, where the marriage was solemnized before God. As she prostrated herself on the floor of the nave beside Ranulf, Ariane felt her mother’s love surrounding her. Disguised behind a veil and a concealing curtain, the Lady Constance watched secretly from the chapel gallery. She had given the couple her blessing days before, and on the morrow, Ranulf had promised Ariane they would visit her mother in her forest dwelling.
A mass followed, and after making a generous offering to the Church, the bride and groom knelt to receive the solemn benediction of the priest.
Finally, at last, Ariane was led from the church by her lord husband, where a chorus of joyous shouts and cheers and pealing bells greeted them. She could see her half-brother, Gilbert, among the crowd, as well as Ranulf’s trusted vassal and friend, Payn, their broad smiles reflecting her own gladness.
As was the custom in a wedding celebration, Ranulf set her upon his steed and mounted behind her. To the accompaniment of blaring trumpets and flowing silk, they led the procession from the church to the bridegroom’s home—or in this case, Claredon Keep.
Secure in his embrace, Ariane leaned back against Ranulf’s broad chest, cherishing the feel of his powerful arms wrapped around her.
“So . . . are you satisfied, wench?” Ranulf asked with amused affection lacing his voice. “You have finally achieved your ends.”
Ariane felt a glow of happiness at his tender teasing, but she shook her head saucily. “You may address me as madame in future, my lord husband. I am not yourwench, nor evendemoiselle any longer. I am yourwife. ”
“Wife,” Ranulf murmured thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, full and joyous, and Ranulf found himself wanting to join in, to laugh and shout with joy himself, at his long-delayed admission. For too long he had
resisted surrender; for too long he had fought against the inevitable.
“Very well, sweet wife. I shall call you madam in future. Unless you misbehave, which is highly likely—in which case you will revert towench. Do you accept these terms as fair?”
“Fair enough, husband.”
When Ariane turned her head to gaze up at him, he saw in her eyes the same all-consuming love he knew shone in his, and knew himself to be blessed. He no longer harbored any doubts. She had claimed his heart irrevocably—and he intended to prove it to her, for all the days of their lives.
The festivities ensued through the entire day and half the night. Lord Walter had provided a wedding feast to rival a king’s, holding it out of doors in a nearby meadow, so that the huge crowds could be accommodated.
The nobles banqueted within shaded pavilions, with the newly wedded couple and most important guests occupying the dais of honor. The long trestle tables outside groaned with both standard fare and delicacies: venison, whole roast boars, partridges, thrushes, peacocks and swans, fish and lampreys, all swimming in highly spiced sauces, with cheeses and sweetmeats for the final courses, as well as innumerable pastries sweetened with honey and glistening with costly imported sugar.
The celebration began with toasts for the bride and groom.
“Will you share with me, my lady?” Ranulf asked huskily, offering Ariane wine from an ornate silver chalice embellished with dragons. When she had sipped, he took it from her and, holding her gaze, turned the goblet so that his lips touched the rim where her mouth had been. His sensual smile afterward caressed her with warmth, clearly proclaiming his desire for her.
Ale and wine flowed freely, and by late afternoon those who could still stand participated in the games and the dancing and the mock tournaments.
Ranulf played his role as bountiful lord, dispensing gifts to the wedding guests, but primarily he watched his beautiful bride enjoy the festivities and thought impatiently of the evening ahead. Tonight Ariane was going to come to him of her own free will, in love, as his beloved. In the church this morning, they had exchanged pledges and sacred vows, but only in their marriage bed would those vows be sealed. She would belong to him fully then. He felt the heat in his loins surging to match the fire in his heart.
His longing had grown to a fierce need by the time dusk settled softly over the countryside and huge bonfires were lit to illuminate the night. Ranulf cared naught for what festivities remained. He wanted only Ariane, alone, in their bed.
By torchlight the wedded couple was escorted to the castle, into the tower, and up to the bridal chamber—Ariane’s former rooms that would be hers and Ranulf’s as long as they remained at Claredon. It was customary for the wedding guests to help in the disrobing for the bedding ceremony. Thus the chamber was crowded and filled with gay chatter, until everyone hushed for another solemn moment.
The wooden floor was strewn with roses; Ariane and Ranulf knelt among them as Father John blessed the nuptial bed. Then, with a last, lingering glance at his wife, Ranulf reluctantly accompanied the men below while, according to custom, the women undressed and put the bride to bed. When at last she was ready, they closed the bed curtains around her and retired.
Moments later Ariane heard his knights bearing Ranulf to his marriage bed amid much laughter and ribald comments. The jesting only grew coarser as his sword and garments were stripped from his body, but at last the door slammed shut behind the men and blessed silence reigned.
Ariane was surprised to find herself trembling. She had yearned for this moment for so long, it seemed like a sweet dream. Her dream lover had come for her, to her, at last.