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did not know how it would taste.
 I am glad you like them, he replied, smiling now.  Try one of the sweetmeats. I
think you will enjoy those, too.
 Marchpane, Isolde said, nodding as she took one from a silver dish.  Robin gave
me some of these once as a Christmas gift.
 Robin? His brows rose, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.  Who is Robin? And
what is he to you?
 Robin Mortimer, Isolde said, her cheeks flushing.  We played together as children
at Lynston, my lord.
 Ah yes, I believe I know Robin Mortimer. I have seen him recently at Court. When
the king comes to Lancaster, we shall join him for a few days. You may see your
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childhood friend then, Isolde. He is a great favourite in the tournament. I believe the
ladies of the Court compete to give him their favours. They say he is as skilled in the
arts of love and verse as combat.
Isolde felt a slash of jealousy as she imagined Robin at Court. He had probably
forgotten her long ago. She would be a fool to think of him again. Her life was here,
with this man, whether she willed it or no.
 As to that, I cannot answer you, sir. I know only that we played together as children
and he was kind to me.
 Had I any suspicion otherwise, it would go hard with you, Isolde, Sir Henry said,
his mouth hard and un-giving.  Be not fooled by my jesting, lady. I would have my
wife come to me a chaste virgin, and remain faithful to me always. Betray me, and I
vow you shall regret it.
 You insult me to suggest it, sir. Isolde dropped her gaze before the fierce challenge
of his.
 Then I beg your pardon, lady, he replied, but did not smile.  Now, take a little
more wine and learn to enjoy yourself. If you are ready, I shall summon the tumblers to
perform for you and perhaps Ondeline will play and sing for us later.
His gaze flicked towards his cousin. She smiled at him, her beautiful face coming
alive. At that moment, her love was revealed and Isolde understood the woman's
resentment of her. Ondeline was passionately in love with her cousin. Did he feel the
same towards her? Would he have wed her if she had not been his cousin?
Isolde studied his face, but could not read his thoughts.
****
Isolde stood as if in a dream as the women prepared her for the wedding. Her kirtle
was a pale blue, her over-gown white with gold embroidery. On her head she wore a
white wimple and a coronet of gold, studded with pearls and turquoises. She had
refused to wear her hair loose, despite Mary's efforts to persuade her.
Sir Henry demanded a chaste bride, and she intended to appear virtuous, as indeed
she was. Isolde had decided it was her immodest headdress, which had provoked Sir
Henry's mockery at the pre-nuptial feast. Had she covered her hair, he would not have
said such lewd things to her.
 It is time, my lady, Mary reminded her.
Isolde's mouth was dry from fear. She had spent a restless night thinking of this
moment, but no way of escape had presented itself to her mind. Indeed, now that she
had begun to know the man she was to marry, she realized it had been too late from the
moment the contracts had been signed. Sir Henry March would never let go his hold on
whatever he owned. Had she tried to break free, he would as soon have seen her dead
and Robin too.
 I am ready, she said.  Ondeline, take the train. Griselda and Mary must come after
you.
In giving Ondeline the position as her chief handmaiden at the wedding ceremony,
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Anne Ireland
she was acknowledging her rank. It was her due as Henry's kinswoman, and merely a
courtesy. Yet it would have been a deadly insult to do otherwise.
Isolde's train fell from her shoulders and was made of velvet heavily trimmed with
squirrel fur. Even with Ondeline carrying most of it, it made her progress slow and
stately. The coronet pressed hard against her brow, giving her a slight headache. Or,
was it only the frantic pounding of her heart that caused her to feel so unwell?
Isolde raised her head. She must not show her anguish. Sir Henry had made it plain
he was a jealous, possessive man. He must be given no reason to suspect she was an
unwilling bride.
Isolde saw him standing before the altar in the chapel as she was met by her uncle.
She had expected Bishop Walden to perform the ceremony, but he had elected to give
her to her husband. The ceremony was to be conducted by Sir Henry's own chaplain.
The bishop would merely bless them afterwards.
 Avis would have been proud of her daughter this day.
The bishop's words, softly spoken, made Isolde raise her head a little higher. She had
not been wrong in thinking him a kind man. He had done what he believed best for her,
and she no longer resented his influence on her life. It was surely God's will that she
marry Sir Henry, and she would submit, no matter what it cost her in private sorrow.
She would be a good and faithful wife, and obey her husband as she ought.
Isolde did not look at her husband as she took her place beside him. Despite her
determination to do her duty, she could hardly keep from shivering. Her face was pale,
her voice barely above a whisper as she made her vows. It was only when Sir Henry
slipped a heavy gold ring set with emeralds on to her finger that she dared to glance up
at him.
His harsh features were set in an expression of displeasure. What had she done now
to make him look at her so sternly? Isolde felt her bottom lip tremble. She bit on it and
tasted blood. Somehow, that restored her courage and she managed a cool smile.
Had Isolde known it, she had an air of regal calm that belied the turmoil of her
thoughts. Her beauty was cold, virginal, lacking the fire of the previous evening. Her air [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]