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Thirty-one
The early evening hours had brought the majority of the Berwyck’s inhabitants into the chapel to attend the evening mass. The priest stood at the altar, peering down from his lofty perch upon the souls whose heads were bowed in reverent worship as he continued preaching his sermon in Latin. The grey smoke from the lit torches had filled the room with a lingering haze, irritating the eyes of the occupants, although none dared to voice their discomfort. ’Twas a small enough penance to pay for the absolution of one’s sins.
Amiria sat with fidgety hands, wondering when the priest would be finished so she could return inside the keep and once more don hose and tunic. She had dressed this eve to please Dristan in the lavender gown he had first seen her in and was thankful Sabina had not done it irreparable damage. It had taken longer than she thought ’til Amiria found the garment carelessly discarded beneath her bed in a wrinkled heap. Thanks to Lynet’s help, the dress looked good as new.
Her hair she had left, at least temporarily, down in a cascade of shimmering loose red curls. From the look Dristan cast her when she entered the chapel, he had been most satisfied to see her thusly attired. Casting a sideways glance at him beneath her lashes, she noticed that he, too, had dressed resplendently this eve in a rich dark-blue tunic.
She began to silently tap her foot from boredom. ’Twas a bad habit of hers she had tried to still over the years whenever she was required to sit for long periods of time whilst indoors. Apparently, she still failed after all this time to cease the repetitive movement. To ease her mind, she thought about the past se’nnight and how time seemingly flew in a whirlwind of activities of living life to its fullest, as Dristan had made mention.
They still trained every morn after mass, although Amiria now took on the task of seeing to the keep. The men had been most pleasantly surprised that first eve when they had returned to sup and witnessed the miraculous condition of the Great Hall.
The dogs had been removed from the keep and no longer added to the filth of the floor that had been scrubbed clean. New rushes mixed with scented herbs were now in place having been strewn about the scoured stones, giving a fresh clean odor to the room. ’Twas indeed more agreeable, even to the hardened warrior’s way of thinking, than its earlier condition. Nor could they complain when Amiria saw that food and ale were readily available to fill their hunger and quench their thirst upon arrival from their rigorous training.
’Twas only when Turquine bellowed for one of the whore’s to come out of hiding and join him for a mug or two that they learned all the woman of that ilk had been sent to the village where they belonged. His voice rang out in annoyance as several others joined in to proclaim their displeasure. Amiria had come to stand afore them with her hands on her hips, daring them to usurp her authority. Her own temper flaring, she voiced, in no uncertain terms, that this was her home and they could very well take themselves off to the village to see to their needs, for those women were no longer welcome within the walls of the castle grounds.
Since Dristan continued to allow her to have her way and did not gainsay her, ’twas clear the knights stood no chance of swaying her decision on the matter. They had grumbled into their cups about the distance they now had to travel for a comely wench, along with what other unpopular changes may yet come.
Fingering the fabric of her gown whilst memories flooded her mind, an enchanting smile appeared on her face. After their last coupling, Dristan refused to have her come to his bed again ’til after they were wed and instead each night escorted her to her own chamber to take her slumber. She may have had doubts briefly flash afore her mind, but they were quickly put to rest when he opened the chamber door for her to enter that first eve. Her eyes had sparkled in delight, as she beheld what flowers he could find gracing the tables of her room. Given the time of year, she was astonished to know the time it must have taken him to find any at all that had not succumbed to the frost found most mornings. She had turned to face him, yet he had only taken her hand. Bowing low, he had pressed a chaste kiss into her palm afore he took his leave. When the door had pressed shut, she had given a heavenly sigh of pleasure.
The evenings had been just as splendid. Spending time in his solar with Lynet and Patrick, ’twas a most promising setting with her family about her, especially when he took his lute in hand and began to sing. The melody of his voice felt as if it sung to her alone whilst his agile fingers strummed the instrument. When he had finished each eve, the look he gave her shook her to her very core. Aye . . . there was no doubt left in her mind that he had properly wooed her to her satisfaction after all!
“Cease, Amiria,” Dristan whispered in a low timbre, “else we must needs sit here longer in the eyes of the good father, since you refuse to pay attention to his words.”
“I canna help it, Dristan,” her hushed tones were for his ears only.
The priest cleared his throat and began again with his voice raised louder, as if to reach into their very souls.
“Ugh! I was right,” he moaned in frustration. “Now we must listen to him drone on about the weakness of the flesh!”
“I am most sorry, my lord,” she said softly as she bowed her head again and made every effort to sit still.
Seeing her meekness must have appeased the priest, as he at last finished his sermon with a loud amen. With those about her rising to leave, Dristan took her elbow and moved her forward towards the altar.
“A moment longer, Father Donovan, if you please,” he said as everyone halted their steps to depart.
“Aye, my lord?” the priest said, coming to stand afore the couple.
“We ask that you would give us your blessing and wed us,” Dristan declared as he brought Amiria closer to his side.
The priest glared at the two in stony silence ’til his gaze finally hovered on Amiria. “And what of you, my child? Will you have him?”
Amiria looked up at Dristan and saw an instant where the thought she would refuse his offer flashed in those steel grey eyes. She smiled with the confidence of a woman who knew her own heart. “Aye, Father, I shall have him.”
A screech rent the air as Sabina ran, stumbling from the chapel, wailing at the injustice of life. Amiria shook her head and gave her attention back to the priest. “Please proceed, good Father,” she said gently.
“Holdings?” the priest queried to Dristan.
“Scribe!” Dristan called out. A young man moved quickly forward and took out parchment and quill. “Take this down,” he ordered, and with a short nod from the scribe that he was ready, Dristan quickly began to give an accounting of all his holdings and property he brought to the marriage.
Amiria’s eyes widened at the amount of wealth Dristan would bring to their union. The scribe’s quill made loud scratching noises upon the parchment whilst he continued to furiously take down all that was being said. Time and time again, the quill went from ink well to parchment ’til Amiria was afraid the bottle would run dry. From the accounting Dristan gave, ’twas clear she would not want for anything for the rest of her days here on earth.
The priest nodded his approval and once more he looked upon Amiria to give her own reckoning of her dowry. Afore she could answer, another spoke on her behalf.
“She brings a full garrison o’ knights along wi’ gold,” Killian said firmly. “Several ’orses will also add tae our liege’s stable. Thar’s property tae tha north in Scotland wi’ a fine a keep you’d ever find and o’ some worth belonging tae her Da’s grandsire. ’er mother also bequeathed her a modest manor on tha outskirts o’ London.”
He continued to rattle off more of her holdings and worth. When he had finished with his speech, he crossed his arms and took up a stance slightly behind Amiria, as her own sire would have done if he had given his approval to their match. With a nod from Dristan that he was in acceptance of the accounts, the priest made a motion to them as they lowered themselves to their knees. He began the ceremony to seal them in marriage.
A cloth binding their hands together was tied around their wrists, and the final blessing was finished. They rose as one, and Dristan leaned down to give her a chaste kiss. A document was rolled out, and Dristan and Amiria each in turn took quill in hand, signing their marriage contract. With a nod of satisfaction, the priest gave them a final blessing, rolled up the parchment before tying it with a ribbon, and handed it to the scribe for safe keeping.
Making their way to the Great Hall, ’twas evident Dristan had given much thought to the day for a feast was prepared for the returning couple. Kegs had been brought up from the cellars and a spigot was being punched into one of the barrels. Ale began to flow to celebrate, and cups were raised to salute their union. Even musicians had been procured and began to tune their instruments to await their pleasure.
Amiria lightly squeezed Dristan’s arm as he led her to the dais to take their place for the meal. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, reaching up to caress his cheek.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “The pleasure was indeed mine, my lady.”
Dristan pulled out her chair, and once seated, he began to fill their trencher with the finest of meats. She could only sit back enjoying her wedding celebration. She sighed in bliss knowing that today began the rest of her life.
Accepting a chalice of wine, she gazed upon her husband over its rim. He must have felt her stare. He looked upon her with his grey eyes capturing her own. The intensity passing between them caused her heart to flutter in anticipation of what was yet to come later this eve. With a promise in her eyes and a light touch on his arm, feeling his strength beneath her palm, she leaned back against her chair with the realization that all her hopes and dreams had been fulfilled.
