Brides With Blades, page 13
“The Serpent will strike you down, ap Gwyfn,” Bron said softly. “You will not survive his anger if you do this.”
Tudur could see that Bron was not entirely convinced. He was afraid that the man might even warn de Shera of their plans. Therefore, he muttered something to Lon, who in turn whispered something to two of his men. Soon, several men were moving for Bron, who was pulled off the table and dragged from the hall.
Bron ended up in a dank, moldy cell as the Welsh warlords of Anglesey continued to plan their attack well into the night.
CHAPTER NINE
The great hall of Rhydilian was alive with the glow from hundreds of candles, expensive tallow tapers that had been brought out of storage and ignited in celebration of the lord’s marriage. The dogs had been cleared out and the entire room smelled of roasting meat and fresh rushes. Knights were dressed in their finest and ladies were clad in beautiful garments. On the event of The Wolfe’s daughter’s wedding to the hereditary king of Anglesey, it was indeed an occasion to celebrate.
As Penelope sat next to Bhrodi at the head table, she was rather taken aback by the spectacle on a rather grand scale. Four massive feasting tables were weighed down with more food than most people saw in a lifetime and a group of six minstrels from the village of Menai played enthusiastically near the hall entry, filling the room with the sounds of harps and mandolins. One of Bhrodi’s teulu commanders, also a musician, played along with his citole.
Penelope smiled as she watched her Uncle Kieran and Aunt Jemma dance their way by the head table; she’d never seen her Uncle Kieran dance before and surprisingly enough, for such a large man he was rather light on his feet. She could hear Jemma laughing all the way across the room.
As the feasting and gaiety went on long into the night, Penelope remained seated and wouldn’t dance, not even when her father begged her to. She was embarrassed to be in a dress even though she looked spectacular in it; the ivory silk clung to her delicious body, something that had not gone unnoticed by Kevin Hage or Bhrodi’s men, and she had been completely mortified to stand up in front of a roomful of people in the dress to say her vows. She was dying to change into clothing she was comfortable with but her mother had flatly denied her; she was the bride, Jordan had scolded, and it was time she acted like one. Brides did not dress in breeches and tunics, Jordan told her, and Penelope had been crestfallen.
In fact, her mother had spent a good deal of time lecturing Penelope on how she was to behave now that she was to be a married woman. No more breeches, no more mail. She would dress and behave like a woman from now on because that is what Bhrodi de Shera deserved. He needed a wife, not another knight, and Penelope had been grossly unhappy with her mother’s directions even though she knew, deep down, that the woman was correct. That being the case, she was somewhat resigned when Jordan had dragged out her trousseau the morning of the ceremony, filled with lady-like things and more items to furnish a new household.
There were chests filled with surcoats, shifts, undergarments, hose, and shoes. There were other chests filled with plate armor and other valuables as part of her dowry. There were no chests filled with mail or swords or armor, and Penelope had actually gone to her father and cried for an hour about it while William had listened patiently. Then he told her that she was to be a married woman now and things would have to change. Unhappy, she had pouted considerably after that but it didn’t change things. She was to be a wife and not a warrior. God, she hated the sound of that.
Therefore, at sunset on a dreary and misty day, Penelope Adalira de Wolfe had become the Lady Penelope de Wolfe de Shera in front of a hall that was full of both English and Welsh. In addition to the family members who had accompanied her to Wales, Bhrodi’s guests included several local chieftains, which made the atmosphere very strange considering they were in the same room with English warriors and not fighting them.
There was a minute amount of tension but not enough to concern William or the other Englishmen. It was a wedding, after all, and even as the wedding feast went deep into the night, the English and Welsh were actually getting along. Some of them were playing dice in one corner of the hall while others scattered about were drinking and laughing, or just drinking. It had been a remarkable show of unity, one that the older English knights including William found quite astonishing. Had they only known it was all an act by the Welsh, they would have been on their guard. As it was, they were enjoying the celebration just as the Welsh seemed to be, festive under a false sense of security.
Bhrodi didn’t suspect any of what his vassals had in mind. They seemed to be having a good time and that was all he could sense. He hadn’t left Penelope’s side all evening even though she had been too nervous to carry on a lengthy conversation with him, but he remained with her, trying to engage her in small talk. He could see that she was uncomfortable in a crowd, more of a private person than someone who enjoyed attention, so he didn’t press her to dance. He was content just to sit with her.
He did, however, want to speak with her; since their long discussion in the keep four days earlier, he’d hardly had time to talk to her and he was very anxious to continue coming to know her. More than that, he was quite anxious to consummate their marriage and had been since he first saw her in the body-skimming ivory dress. For a man who’d not had sexual relations in well over two years, the mere sight had been enough to arouse him. Now he found he could think of nothing else and the alcohol he had been drinking only magnified those thoughts. As the gaiety and music went on around them, he leaned into her ear.
“Would you like to retire now?” he asked quietly.
Penelope looked at him as if he had just suggested something very shocking. She had a wide-eyed look but quickly settled down when she realized he had every right to make the request. He was now her husband although it would take some getting used to. She was torn between resisting him and simply getting it over with.
“If… if that is your wish,” she said, then looked around the hall. “I would like to bid my parents a good eve, if I may.”
Bhrodi nodded graciously, following Penelope’s gaze to the dance floor where William was now escorting the very small and very pregnant form of Tacey to the center of the hall. Tacey had been in the company of Jordan and Jemma all evening, each woman paying particularly close attention to the girl, but as William carefully pulled her out to where others were dancing, Bhrodi’s brow furrowed.
“What is your father doing?” he asked, trying not to sound too worried. “He cannot think to dance with her, can he?”
Penelope grinned at her father, who was being very gentle with the timid young girl as he explained the dance steps. “Why not?” she asked. “I think it is very sweet. Besides, do you really think my mother would allow her to dance if she did not believe it to be perfectly safe?”
Bhrodi had to admit she had a point but he was still uncomfortable. “He is a very big man,” he said, watching as William led Tacey about in her first few steps. “God’s Blood, he’s going to step on her.”
Penelope began to giggle. “He will not step on her,” she said, turning to look at him. “He has eight granddaughters. He knows how to handle young women.”
Just as she said that, Tacey went one way and William went the other and they ended up crashing into one another. Tacey actually laughed as William set her on the right course. Bhrodi winced.
“He will crush her,” he said. “I am not entirely sure I can watch this.”
Penelope’s laughter grew. “Are you always so worrisome?”
He gave her a look that rather suggested he wasn’t about to admit anything to her. “Your father is three times, nay, four times Tacey’s size. It is well within my right to worry.”
“And I suppose you will not allow him to dance with our daughters, then?”
He scowled. “What daughters?” he said. “I told you we were to have all sons.”
“And I told you all daughters.”
He could see she was jesting, thrilled that her nervous manner was loosening and she was starting to enjoy herself. It was the same woman he’d seen those days ago when they’d had their most wonderful private conversation. It was the woman he could see himself growing fond of. At least, he hoped so. Eager to maintain the light mood in a more secluded setting, he shook his head at her.
“We will continue this conversation in private because I am sure that if I spanked you in public, your father might have something to say about it,” he said, rising on his big legs. “Shall we retire to our chamber, Lady de Shera?”
Our chamber. Penelope’s smile faded and her nervousness returned although she fought it. He was her husband now, as alien as that thought was. She didn’t even really know the man at all, but she was about to come to know him better than she’d ever known any man in her life. It was inevitable.
Taking a deep breath to summon her courage, she stood up and Bhrodi politely grasped the long silk train that was wound up around her chair. He picked it up and followed her as she made her way over to her parents and family, who had an entire table all to themselves. Jordan, who had been watching William and little Tacey, caught sight of her glorious daughter approaching and she immediately went to her.
“Are ye having a good time, sweetheart?” she put her hands on Penelope’s face and kissed her cheek. Then she looked at Bhrodi. “A fine feast, m’laird.”
He dipped his head graciously. “My thanks, Lady de Wolfe,” he said, “but I did not have a great deal to do with it. You organized the majority of it.”
Jordan smiled. “’Twas those women I brought from the village,” she said. “As I told ye, women are very useful. I think ye’ll come tae appreciate it.”
“Mayhap I will.”
Jordan nodded her head, catching a glimpse of her husband and Tacey as they moved across the hard-packed floor. “Speaking of women,” she said, “yer sister seems tae be enjoying herself a great deal.”
Bhrodi turned to watch William and Tacey, now dancing in sync. “I am glad,” he said. “Thank you for what you have done for her, Lady de Wolfe. She seems very happy.”
Jordan beamed. “She is a sweet lass,” she said. “She has taken a liking tae me husband, as ye can see.”
Penelope smiled as she watched her father whirl the young woman around. “Papa likes to dance,” she said. “It looks as if he has found a willing partner.”
“Penny, lass,” Jemma, a cup of wine in hand, came up behind Jordan. “Why have ye not danced yet?”
Penelope could feel her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “I am not much good at dancing, auntie,” she said. “Mamma tried to teach me but I never really learned.”
“But it is yer wedding, lass,” Jemma persisted. “I never had a decent wedding and neither did yer mother. The least ye could do is let us see ye dance and enjoy yerself.”
Penelope was mortified as she looked to her mother for help. Jordan took pity on her. “The lass has no aptitude for dancing,” she told her cousin. “She would trip and kill herself and ye know it. Leave the dancing to those who know how.”
Jemma shrugged and drank deeply from her cup before setting it down and pulling Kevin out onto the floor. Kevin, so much in looks and manner as Kieran had been at that age, gladly took his mother for a dance. He wouldn’t even look at Penelope as he moved past her; he couldn’t. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and as Penelope watched him dance with his mother, she knew why. She felt a great deal of sorrow in her heart because of it. It would seem all of them were growing up one way or the other, being forced to deal with situations that made them unhappy or uncomfortable. She knew she would sorely miss Kevin in the coming years and she genuinely wished him happiness. Her gaze lingered on Kevin a moment before returning to her mother.
“We are going to retire for the evening, Mamma,” she said. “I wanted to bid you a good eve before I went.”
Jordan’s face washed with a gentle expression; it would be such a momentous night for her daughter and her heart naturally ached for her. It was a bittersweet moment. Forcing a smile, she grasped her daughter’s cheeks again and kissed her by the ear.
“Be patient and kind,” she whispered. “Obey yer husband in all things, lass. I can tell ye no more except I love ye.”
Penelope could feel the sting of tears as her mother released her and turned to Bhrodi. The man accepted a kiss on the cheek from Lady de Wolfe also, as he was developing a genuine fondness for the woman who had virtually taken over his keep. More than that, she had helped him straighten out some things in his own life desperately in need of straightening. Sian’s clean chamber was one of them. From yesterday to today, everything was in order and he’d never seen the place run more smoothly. Lady Jordan and the women she had hired had the household running as well as any he had ever seen. This feast was a direct result of that efficiency and he was grateful. Now, all he had to worry over was his new wife and, at the moment, she was clearly occupying all of his attention.
“My thanks to you, Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “Your visit to Rhydilian has been an agreeable one.”
Jordan smiled. “I am pleased,” she said, her gaze moving between the pair. “We will see ye both on the morrow whereupon me husband will pay the balance of the dowry. I am sure he has discussed all of this with ye already.”
Bhrodi’s gaze lingered on the woman. “He has,” he replied. “The majority of the gifts were presented after the ceremony today and I do believe there is very little left.”
“But there is some left.”
“Has he actually discussed this with you?”
Jordan’s brow furrowed. “Of course he has,” she said. “Who do ye think gave him the terms of the marriage before he went tae negotiate with ye?”
Bhrodi cocked an eyebrow, shaking his head with mild disbelief. “I am certainly not surprised,” he said. “You are a formidable woman, Lady de Wolfe.”
Jordan was back to grinning. “So is me daughter,” she said, touching Penelope’s cheek affectionately. “Ye will find that out for yerself. Go, now; sleep well and we shall see ye on the morrow.”
Bhrodi didn’t have to be told twice. He’d just been given permission to be alone with his new wife and he intended to do it, and do it fast before something else prevented them from leaving the hall. He knew Penelope was reluctant but he wouldn’t acknowledge it, nor would he give in to it. She was his now and he intended to do with her just as he pleased. He moved to take Penelope’s elbow to lead her out of the hall but she balked.
“I want to bid my father a good evening,” she told him.
Jordan interrupted. “I will tell him for ye,” she said. “Ye and yer husband retire for the night. It is been a very big day for ye both.”
“But….”
“Go now, lass.”
It wasn’t a request; it was a command. Penelope reached out to grasp her mother’s hand, one last effort to stay with her, terrified to let her go. This was such a pivotal moment in her life and she found that she wasn’t at all as prepared for it as she would have liked to have been. She wanted to be back in England in simpler times, not in Wales set to embark on a new life. All of this flashed through her mind and it was a struggle to push it away.
“You and Papa will not leave tomorrow until I have had the chance to say my farewells to you?” she asked.
Jordan patted her hand and removed it from her arm. “Of course not,” she assured her daughter. “Go with yer husband, now. Sleep well.”
Penelope nodded with a mixture of sadness and forced courage. She was trying hard to be brave. With a lingering glance at her mother, and a meaningful one, she let Bhrodi lead her out of the hall to a chorus of well-wishes. The newly married couple was retiring for the evening and everyone seemed to have advice, bawdy or otherwise.
Ivor, Ianto, Gwyllim and Yestin, who had been huddled at a table with several local chieftains, began to follow the couple from the hall but Bhrodi called them off with a balled fist. They received the message loud and clear, backing off as their lord and his new wife retired for the evening.
Thrilled that they were nearly clear of the hall, Bhrodi couldn’t help but notice that his uncle’s wardrobe, the one the old man slept and lived in, was chained shut. He also couldn’t help but notice that the door was rattling steadily. He wasn’t sure who had chained the doors but whoever it was had more than likely done the right thing. He had no idea what would have happened had his mad uncle been allowed to follow his usual routine this night. At the moment, he didn’t want to have to worry about it.
Unfortunately, Penelope noticed the rattling wardrobe just as they were about to quit the hall completely. She even pointed at it.
“What is happening there?” she asked him. “Is someone locked up in the wardrobe?”
Rather than explain everything, Bhrodi continued walking and took her right past it. “Something like that,” he said vaguely. “We can discuss it on the morrow.”
Penelope looked at him queerly but he simply smiled. Now they were in the darkened foyer with two big torches burning hot and sooty in iron wall sconces. There were at least six of Bhrodi’s men guarding the door and even more outside that she could hear but couldn’t see. All of the men were wearing red tunics that were simple and unadorned, and as the couple quit the great hall and headed towards the keep, led through the night by a soldier with a brightly burning torch, Penelope turned to Bhrodi.
“I have noticed that your soldiers do not wear armor, not even mail,” she said. “Even those men at the door do not wear it. What happens if they must engage in a fight in order to protect the door? Would it not be to their advantage to wear mail?”
Bhrodi was helping her with the train of her gown, collecting it in his arms as they crossed the bailey so it would not become soiled. “Nay,” he said. “Those men are my teulu and they do not wear armor. It is not their way.”
Penelope cocked her head curiously. “Teulu?”
He nodded. “My personal guard,” he said. “Most Welshmen of rank have them, although some have more than others.”
