“That beast of a man stood in horse shite while the king’s priest said our marriage rites, and he never noticed!” Margaret’s words grew louder until she shouted her displeasure.
“If it is only his aroma,” Grania replied calmly, fighting a smile, “a bath will solve that problem and would likely be appreciated by your new husband.”
“A bath is only the beginning of what would appease me. Did you see his hair and his beard? His fluff sticks out around his head like a big bear. And if he didn’t eat for a week, he could live off the crumbs embedded in his fur.” She stopped her pacing and stomped her foot. “I’ll not have him!”
“Well, it isn’t as if you were given a choice of husbands, my lamb. The king’s instructions were quite clear. This knight will rule your keep. Your late father would have wanted this.”
“My father cared nothing about
me or this keep, or he would have stayed here to rule it himself instead of always following a fight.”
Grania ignored her charge’s familiar complaint. Her father hadn’t cared enough to forge a bond with the child after the death of her mother. Thankfully, the girl didn’t grieve too deeply at his loss. “Obviously, the king believes our new lord will be strong enough to hold this tiny corner of England. Roland Du Bary is your lord by his decree. What you make of this marriage, and this man, is up to you.”
“I’ll make nothing of him. I’ll return to the convent—that’s what I’ll do. Before he has the chance to make me his wife in deed.”
The stubborn glint in her eye worried Grania. The last time she’d seen that look had precipitated events resulting in her mistress’s prompt expulsion from the convent.
“Hurry! Pack!” Lady Margaret plucked gowns and underclothes from their pegs on the wall and tossed them at Grania.
Grania paid her mistress no mind and rehung the clothing. Her lady could not return to the convent. The prioress would bolt the door if she saw who begged entrance.
The sounds of laughter and drunken shouts floated up from the hall. “Your husband will be here any moment, and you’re not prepared to greet him,” Grania chided. “Would you shame the people of your keep? They barely know you now since you’ve just arrived from the convent. Will you have them thinking you’re a mouse?”
Lady Margaret stomped her foot again. “The shame is not mine. I…will…not…have…him!”
’Twas then the old nurse noticed the sheen of moisture in her young charge’s eyes and guessed the girl was afraid. “Now, lamb, perhaps he’s not the man you imagined in your maiden’s fantasies, but you are no squeamish miss, either.”
“He’s far beneath the man I dreamed he’d be. Why, he lived for a time in Queen Eleanor’s court.” The young mistress’s words cracked, and her shoulders slumped. “I had hopes he would at least be clean.”
“And you had hopes he would recite poetry and sing you songs, no doubt.”
Lady Margaret gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’d dreamed his hair would be golden and his manner would be…pleasant. The man belched at my table!” she whispered furiously.
“Most men belch.” Grania cut to the heart of what she believed was the cause of her mistress’s distress. “Are you afraid of the bedding?”
“I’m not completely ignorant. I’ve seen animals mate.” Lady Margaret’s fierce expression grew dubious. “I know what is to come, but I never thought he’d be quite so…large.”
“Ah, love.” Grania hugged her. “Every girl has fears of her first time. You’re a smart one. You’ve only to apply your wits to ensure your husband takes care with you.”
“Think you he will listen? Did you see how much ale he consumed?”
“Well, think on that. Doesn’t Elspeth complain that her husband’s…oak—”
“Grania!”
Grania waved her hand. “ ’Tis not the time for maidenly airs. The men are coming up the steps even now. Elspeth says when her husband is in his cups, he cannot sustain a…” She searched for a word other than the coarse one that first came to mind.
“Wood?”
“Yes!” Grania replied, flustered with the topic of their conversation, having never experienced a man’s ardor. “You’ve only to ply him with more ale and get him into a hot bath. His…limb will wilt like a willow branch, and he’ll be unable to claim you.”
“But what of the morning?”
“Tomorrow is another day, love.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “We could wait until daylight and slip out of the keep.” Her mistress hugged Grania. “Whatever would I do without you?”
Have children? Live a long life? Grania pushed aside her morbid thoughts. If the new lord was half the man she believed, Lady Margaret might not be so eager to leave in the morning. And she’d witnessed how her lady’s gaze had clung to his tall, broad frame as he’d approached the keep—before he’d dismounted. “Quickly, now. Remove your clothing. You must appear willing. I’ll order a bath brought to this chamber.” Grania helped her untie the knots at the side of her bliaut and drew it over her head, and then swept away her undergown. “Now, put on this robe.”