Read Online The Sword and The Swan by Roberta Gellis - Free Book Online
Authors: Roberta Gellis
Tags: Fantasy
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habitable. If it was, he would write to Sleaford to have his clothing, bed, linens, and other household items sent to him, and he and Catherine could live in comfort and privacy—things not to be obtained when lodging with the king—until his investiture as earl of Soke had taken place.
A brief visit assured him that the walls and roof of the place were sound and that such trifling damage as had been done could easily be repaired. When he realized, spurring even more hastily along the road that led to the castle, that he had missed Catherine, he was a little annoyed, but no comprehension of the apparent enormity of his behavior disturbed him. He was sure that his bride would scarcely notice the absence of a groom so unwelcome in the press of well-wishers that must be surrounding her.
Accordingly, Rannulf did not hurry while he made his way to the head of the room. Catherine was not in the seat of honor. Well, there was no rule that she must remain seated, although it was customary. He would have liked to sit down himself, but it was also customary for the bride and groom to receive good wishes together. Rannulf turned his eyes on the crowd, seeking any large knot of persons that could indicate the presence of the bride. There was none near him, and he sighed and began to wander through the hall seeking her. Rannulf was very puzzled when he came across Catherine, who was sitting in a window seat.
"How now, madam," he said mildly, "What do you here? Why are you not at the top of the room?"
That was the last straw! Catherine was too well bred to shriek in public, but if a woman could be said to snarl, she did so. Her full lips drew back from her perfect teeth and her cheeks turned scarlet with the rush of her blood. Let him take what revenge he would. It was better to be literally destroyed than to die of shame.
"Because," she spat, "no one saw fit to take me there. Am I to push my way forward myself? Should I stop the passersby and bid them wish me well?"
The owner of a fine, full-fledged temper of his own, Rannulf could respect a round rejoinder. Apparently the woman—she did not look like a child now—could speak honestly what was in her mind. Rannulf did not understand why she was so angry with him, since he had nothing to do with the behavior of the guests, but that thought could not hold his mind as he stared in amazement into Catherine's flushed face. He had been startled by her pale beauty when he first saw her, but he was dumbfounded by her passionate radiance now. An urgent sense of desire touched him, a sensation far different from his usual impersonal need for a woman.
"I had no opportunity to give these to you earlier," he said finally, ignoring her outburst. "Here is your bride-gift."
He dropped the pouch gracelessly into her lap and stood somewhat bemused, waiting for her to open it. Catherine wanted to throw it back into his face, but again the fact that it was a public place restrained her behavior. As she slowly untied the string that secured the mouth of the pouch, her fear returned.
Rannulf of Sleaford was not the man, by the look of him or by reputation, to accept opposition meekly. Possibly his indifference to her temper meant that he did not intend to endure it long. As soon as possible she must repair the damage she had done and return to the role of cheerful and graceful compliance.
The drawstring gave and the jewels slid into her lap. Catherine gasped, her temper and fear alike momentarily forgotten, for she had an inordinate love of beautiful things and a passion for finery. Rannulf, watching her, almost smiled. The leaping from tantrum to pleasure for a new toy was a child's trick that he understood. If she was always so easily distracted, she would be no trouble to manage.
"I—I thank you, my lord," she murmured, somewhat mollified. Perhaps it was this he went to get, she thought.
"You are welcome to them," Rannulf replied. The jewels were worth a goodly sum, but there were plenty in
A brief visit assured him that the walls and roof of the place were sound and that such trifling damage as had been done could easily be repaired. When he realized, spurring even more hastily along the road that led to the castle, that he had missed Catherine, he was a little annoyed, but no comprehension of the apparent enormity of his behavior disturbed him. He was sure that his bride would scarcely notice the absence of a groom so unwelcome in the press of well-wishers that must be surrounding her.
Accordingly, Rannulf did not hurry while he made his way to the head of the room. Catherine was not in the seat of honor. Well, there was no rule that she must remain seated, although it was customary. He would have liked to sit down himself, but it was also customary for the bride and groom to receive good wishes together. Rannulf turned his eyes on the crowd, seeking any large knot of persons that could indicate the presence of the bride. There was none near him, and he sighed and began to wander through the hall seeking her. Rannulf was very puzzled when he came across Catherine, who was sitting in a window seat.
"How now, madam," he said mildly, "What do you here? Why are you not at the top of the room?"
That was the last straw! Catherine was too well bred to shriek in public, but if a woman could be said to snarl, she did so. Her full lips drew back from her perfect teeth and her cheeks turned scarlet with the rush of her blood. Let him take what revenge he would. It was better to be literally destroyed than to die of shame.
"Because," she spat, "no one saw fit to take me there. Am I to push my way forward myself? Should I stop the passersby and bid them wish me well?"
The owner of a fine, full-fledged temper of his own, Rannulf could respect a round rejoinder. Apparently the woman—she did not look like a child now—could speak honestly what was in her mind. Rannulf did not understand why she was so angry with him, since he had nothing to do with the behavior of the guests, but that thought could not hold his mind as he stared in amazement into Catherine's flushed face. He had been startled by her pale beauty when he first saw her, but he was dumbfounded by her passionate radiance now. An urgent sense of desire touched him, a sensation far different from his usual impersonal need for a woman.
"I had no opportunity to give these to you earlier," he said finally, ignoring her outburst. "Here is your bride-gift."
He dropped the pouch gracelessly into her lap and stood somewhat bemused, waiting for her to open it. Catherine wanted to throw it back into his face, but again the fact that it was a public place restrained her behavior. As she slowly untied the string that secured the mouth of the pouch, her fear returned.
Rannulf of Sleaford was not the man, by the look of him or by reputation, to accept opposition meekly. Possibly his indifference to her temper meant that he did not intend to endure it long. As soon as possible she must repair the damage she had done and return to the role of cheerful and graceful compliance.
The drawstring gave and the jewels slid into her lap. Catherine gasped, her temper and fear alike momentarily forgotten, for she had an inordinate love of beautiful things and a passion for finery. Rannulf, watching her, almost smiled. The leaping from tantrum to pleasure for a new toy was a child's trick that he understood. If she was always so easily distracted, she would be no trouble to manage.
"I—I thank you, my lord," she murmured, somewhat mollified. Perhaps it was this he went to get, she thought.
"You are welcome to them," Rannulf replied. The jewels were worth a goodly sum, but there were plenty in
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