Royal Feud

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Ishton, since you have accepted the marriage," Wyham continued when Lucy resumed her seat, "I must inform you that Henry has charged me with ensuring the marriage is properly consummated so there can be no question later of an annulment."

"And just how do you propose to do that, milord?" Delvin inquired. "There will be another bedding ceremony tonight, attended by Lady Lucy and myself. In the morning, both you and Lady Hermione will need to swear before Lady Lucy, the priest, two other witnesses, and myself that the marriage has indeed been consummated."

"I agree to those stipulations," Delvin responded.

"Lady Hermione, do you agree to these terms as well?" Wyham asked, his voice gentle.

Silence stretched as they waited for Hermione's response. "Aye," she whispered. She

did not raise her bent head.

"Thank you, milady." Wyham took another sip of his wine. "Ishton, Henry has also granted you the title of Earl. The title will be formally conferred upon you at Westminster Abbey later in the spring, but you may use the title, Earl of Ishton, now."

"King Henry has been extremely generous to me." "Aye,” Wyham agreed. "Henry is also making an example of you, so his nobles can

see how he rewards those who are loyal to him." "I would like to thank King Henry for his largesse. How can I do so in a fitting

manner?"

"I suggest you send him a message expressing your gratitude, along with one of your finest warhorses. The king has a fondness for good horseflesh. As for a more enduring demonstration of your gratitude, believe me, from now on Henry will frequently call upon you to show your loyalty."

Delvin nodded. "Thank you for your advice, milord. I will do as you suggest." He took a drink of his wine. "I assume that the king sent the contingent of soldiers with you to evict Morefy from his castle." "Aye, that he did. Tomorrow we will ride to Morefy with Henry's eviction

proclamation. I require that you and some of your men accompany us. I also that your forces act under my command. Although I shall explain to Morefy that it is in his best interest to leave peacefully, I do not expect him to do so." "I expect you are correct, Wyham. All will be as you require." require

Hermione stared at her hands in her lap, tuning out the men's voices as they discussed their plans. She knew Delvin had no real desire for her as his wife. It was obvious that the only reason he had agreed to the king's conditions was the hundreds of acres of Morefy lands to which he would now lay claim. What options did she have? None. The king had ordered her marriage to Delvin-not once but twice. With the deaths of Lord and Lady Bamchester there was no other place for her to go. She had no say in determining her future now, just as she had not when her father had ordered her home from Bamchester nor when he had ordered her marriage to Delvin.

"Hermione." Lucy's voice pierced her desolation. "We must have a special feast tonight to celebrate your marriage to Delvin. Let us leave the men to their strategizing while we make preparations."

"As you wish."

Hermione felt drained and at a loss. Although she was grateful for Lucy's heartfelt approval, which put a semblance of happiness on the essentially pragmatic arrangement, she could drum up no enthusiasm to celebrate a marriage she could only dread. Standing, she raised her head only to have her gaze captured by Delvin's intense, brilliant blue eyes. With a shaking breath, she tore her eyes from his and followed Lucy out of the solar.

Hermione paced her chamber. The walls confined her, constrained her, trapped her. She had not been this frightened on her wedding night, knowing that the information she had to tell Delvin about her father's plans would put all thoughts of bedding her out of his mind. But now there was no escape. She would have to submit to his possession tonight. She would be completely in his power-helpless.

She had had a warm bath earlier and was now dressed in her best gown. The lovely golden silk kirtle had beautiful red flowers embroidered around the neckline, the bottom of the sleeves, and the hem of the skirt. Lucy and Clare had spent long hours on the intricate needlework. Hermione had braided her hair as usual, leaving each long plait to hang down her back. An ivory diaphanous veil covered her head, held in place by a gold circlet. She knew she looked as attractive as it was possible for her to look. Even that thought did not raise her spirits.

She would survive, she kept telling herself. She had endured enormous pain and

suffering already. She could and would overcome whatever this night had in store for

her. The loud knock on the door intruded. She raised a shaking hand to her chest, trying to still the rapid beating of her heart. It was time. There was no way out. She took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself. The knock cracked against the door again, louder this time.

"Hermione, 'tis Delvin," came his deep masculine voice.

She swallowed and walked on unsteady legs to the door. Lifting the bar, she pulled the door open. Delvin was so handsome it hurt to look at him. He was dressed in the same brilliant blue wool tunic he had worn for their wedding. The piercing blue of his eyes seared through her. As usual, when he came to escort her down to supper, he offered her his hand. She hesitated, then placed her shaking hand into his. His fingers closed gently but firmly over hers.

"You look beautiful tonight, Hermione." He raised her hand and bent his head to kiss her hand. She dropped her eyes, no longer able to meet his gaze. "Come," he urged. As they walked downstairs, the noise in the hall dissipated. When they reached the bottom step, the silence was absolute.

"Three cheers for the Earl and Countess of Ishton," someone yelled. A deafening shout rang though the cavernous hall as those assembled voiced their approval, celebrating their lord's new title. Delvin smiled and raised his left hand to acknowledge their tribute before leading Hermione to the dais.

Seated at the high table, Hermione lowered her head and closed her eyes, despising herself for being such a coward. She had not always been this way. Before she had been forced to return to Morefy, she had been a happy, carefree girl. Nothing had frightened her then. She had eagerly sought out every experience life had to offer. She rapidly blinked her eyes to stop the tears that threatened to fall. Enough self-pity, she sternly told herself. She determinedly counted her blessings. Her life was so much better here at Mercif than what she had endured at Morefy. She already loved Lucy like a mother. Delvin was kind and handsome, and someday she would have children to love.

After supper was cleared away, musicians began to play, and Delvin led Hermione into the middle of the hall for the first dance. She stepped on his toes as well as the feet of Sir Bernard on her other side. The movements of the dance confused her, so she turned the wrong way and bumped into Delvin. She raised her eyes to his, wondering if the misery she felt was evident on her face. He extracted her from the circle of dancers and led her to the side of the hall.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"Tis all right, Hermione. You are just suffering from an attack of nerves. That is all. Everything will be fine."

They stood quietly together, watching the dancing. After a while Lucy came to them. "Hermione, 'tis time to go upstairs now."

"As you will," Hermione said. Lucy put her arm around Hermione's waist and led her up the stairs. Once in Delvin's chamber, she guided Hermione to a chair. Hermione felt as if she were a lifeless doll as Lucy took off her veil and unwound her braids. Lucy muttered soft words of reassurance as she brushed Hermione's hair. Eventually, Hermione felt her rigid posture relax somewhat.

"My dear, you seem rather distressed. Are you all right?" "I am afraid." Lucy's gentleness prompted the words to slip out of her mouth.

Lucy laid the brush down, drew up a chair, and sat down in front of Hermione, taking both of Hermione's hands in her own. Hermione said nothing, merely stared at her hands lovingly held by Lucy.

"Hermione, my dear, Delvin would never hurt you. You know that, do you not?" "Aye," she mumbled. Hermione gave Lucy the response she knew the older woman expected, even though she did not really believe that Delvin would not physically hurt her.

"Sometimes the anticipation of an event is far worse than the actual experience. I think you will find that is the case with your bedding. Eventually, you will even grow to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed. The physical union in marriage is one of God's marvelous gifts to us. You shall see."

Lucy stood and drew Hermione up from the chair and into her arms. Cradling

Hermione's body next to hers, the other woman rubbed soothing hands over her back.

Hermione clutched Lucy's waist, hugging her.

After a time, Lucy gently pushed Hermione away from her. "All right, my dear. 'Tis time for you to gather your courage and face your fears." She took a deep breath. "Aye."

Lucy turned Hermione around and unlaced her gown. She drew the kirtle from over Hermione's head. Walking toward Hermione's clothes chest, Lucy folded the silk and placed it inside. "Go ahead and take your shoes and hose off and then get in bed," Lucy said

over her shoulder.

When Hermione had complied, Lucy came to the bed and pulled the covers over

her. "Take off your chemise and hand it to me, my dear." When Hermione was n***d under the covers, Lucy gently cupped Hermione's left

cheek and leaned down to give her a kiss on her forehead.

are ready."

will go tell Delvin that you

2 12

A laric threw back the covers and swung his feet over to sit on the side of the mattress. Resting his elbows on his spread knees, he dropped his head into his hands and shut his eyes. His hands dug through his hair and into his scalp. She is my wife.... He clenched his jaw. Aye, she acquiesced, but she was not willing. I did not heed her fears, and I hurt her.

His will battled with his conscience, his heart laden with guilt. Sitting upright, he turned to look at Hermione, huddled on the side of the bed as far from him as she could get. Her back was to him, her knees pulled to her chest. Her long brown hair completely shielded her face. He pulled the bedding up to cover her bare back.

The cold caressed his body as he walked to the washbowl. He bent, washed his hands, then splashed the frigid water on his face. The chill in the room was no match for the ice invading his soul. He pulled on a clean pair of breeches, jerked on a tunic, and grabbed his mantle. With one last glance at Hermione, he swung the mantle over his shoulders and quit their chamber.

Delvin went quietly down the stairs and through the hall, careful not to wake any of the soldiers or servants sleeping on pallets on the floor. Outside the donjon, he hesitated on the top of the steps. Taking a deep breath, letting the chilled air fill his lungs, he raised his eyes to the sky. The black of night was fading into the deepest blue. Faint tendrils of dark rose touched the bottom of the clouds hovering overhead. He dropped his eyes from the sky and scanned the top of the battlements until his gaze came to rest on the cross. As if following a lodestone, keeping his eyes on the cross, he descended the donjon steps and traversed the bailey toward the church.

When he entered the chapel, its tranquility embraced him. The gold cross on top of the altar glowed in the light of a lamp burning beside it. The only noise breaking the serenity of the sanctuary was the clatter of his boots on the stone floor as he made his way up to the altar. He dropped to his knees in front of the communion rail and automatically made the sign of the cross. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and folded his hands together on top of the rail in the posture that was commonplace to him from years of attendance at mass.

"Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. In my arrogance, my greed, and my l**t I have hurt my wife. Lord, I am sorry, Forgive me. In your mercy, Lord, hear my prayer."

My son, I forgive you. All your sins were paid for by My Son's death upon the cross.

Delvin let the absolution sink into his soul. Warmth filled him, chasing the cold away and banishing his guilt. Peace and acceptance flowed through him. The sound of a door opening, then quickly closing again, returned his consciousness back to the world around him. Sitting back on his haunches, he placed his hands flat on his tights and stared up at the cross. What should he do now? How

could he make this up to Hermione?

Go in peace and sin no more. Love her as you love yourself. He would start anew with Hermione. Never again would he hurt her or take her against her will. He afforded his falcons more respect and consideration than he had given to his wife last night in their marriage bed. He valued and nurtured the birds fierce spirits because that was what he needed from them. It was their spirits that made them successful hunters. Last night he had dominated and controlled Hermione, with no respect for her feelings. If she were to become the wife he needed and the mother of his

children, he had to give her the same care and respect he showed his falcons. Filled with resolution, Delvin pushed to his feet. After bowing to the altar, he turned around and strolled up the aisle to the door.

Hermione lay curled into a ball as she waited for day to break. She had not slept at all. during the long night. Her eyes burned with fatigue. Every muscle in her body ached, and she felt numb and frozen inside. The weight of the bed behind her shifted as Delvin turned over and sat up. She held

her breath and tensed as she waited. The warmth of the bedding was pulled up to her

shoulders, covering her nakedness. She listened to the splashing of the water and the

rustle of cloth, then the quiet opening and closing of the door, relieved when Delvin left

the room.

Delvin had saved her from her father. He had saved her from Wulfric's assault. But there had been no one to save her from him. As always, she was on her own.

She did not want to be n***d and vulnerable when he returned. She pushed the covers off and stood. Swaying as her feet touched the floor, she grabbed on to the bedpost for balance. When she regained her equilibrium, she walked to the washstand and quickly washed her body.

Dawn crept through the slats of the wooden shutters, sending wisps of light into the room. Hermione dressed in her green wool kirtle, trying to gain confidence from her favorite gown. Sitting on a chair, she brushed her hair and started to twist the long strands into a braid.

The door opened and Delvin entered, but he remained on the far side of the chamber from her. She swallowed. The worst was over now, she tried to reassure herself. What more could he do to her?

"Good morrow, Hermione." His quiet voice seemed to fill the entire chamber. "Good morrow, milord." Despite her intent, the greeting was weak and shaky.

"Hermione, I have come to ask for your forgiveness." Startled, she raised her eyes to his. Maintaining eye contact with her, he slowly advanced toward her. She felt like a doc, captured in the sights of a hunter, but could not pull away from the remorse she saw in his eyes.

He sank onto his knees in front of her. "I am sorry I hurt you last night. I know I have done nothing to earn your trust, but I promise I will never hurt you like that again." He gradually reached out to her, as if giving her time to become accustomed to his

presence, then took her limp hands in his own strong, warm hands. "Hermione, I will try

to be a good husband to you. But I cannot make our marriage succeed by myself. Will

you meet me halfway?"

She stared at him, weighing his words. "I will try."