Chapter Fifteen #4
Douglass was forced to agree. She didn’t want to be traveling with her husband only to turn back because the wars in England were surging again.
She did not have to remind herself that she was marrying one of the greatest warlords of all, someone whom Simon de Montfort depended upon.
She knew very well that a knight was married to his vocation more than his wife, although her father had been an exception to that rule.
He would have chosen his wife, Lady Summer, many times over any conflicts that had to do with the king.
Douglass wondered if she and Tiberius would ever reach that point, where he would easily choose her over any conflict.
She wondered if, from a Lord of Thunder, such a thing was even possible.
Lost to her thoughts, the remaining travel until they reached the monastery in the White Friars area of London passed quickly.
The next thing she realized, Tiberius was drawing his steed to a halt in front of a square, block-like building that was rather oddly shaped.
It had more than four walls, it seemed, and a thatched roof.
Tiberius pulled the horse to the side door and secured the animal, knowing that the beast had a bad enough temper that no one would be able to get close to it to steal his belongings.
He dismounted and reached up to pull Douglass off as well, setting her carefully to her feet.
Holding Douglass with one hand, he pounded on the door.
It took several more knocks before a small window in the door slid open and a pair of eyes appeared.
“Who comes?” a thin voice demanded.
Tiberius didn’t hesitate. “I am Tiberius de Shera, Lord Lockhurst,” he said. “My brother is the Earl of Coventry. My lady and I wish to be married and I shall pay handsomely for the service. Will you admit us?”
The eyes in the door peered at Douglass, who frowned because the man seemed to be studying her longer than he should have. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. He was making her vastly uncomfortable.
“Stop staring at me as if you have never seen a woman before,” she said, disturbed. “Open the door and summon your superior. We wish to be married.”
The eyes in the door blinked rapidly and the little door panel slid shut.
Tiberius looked at Douglass and shrugged.
“I have no idea if they will open the door,” he muttered, looking at their surroundings, formulating a back-up plan.
“If they do not, then we shall move on until we find a church that will marry us this night.”
Douglass held his hand tightly, looking around because he was. “It seems very foreboding here,” she said. “Where are we, exactly?”
Tiberius looked east, to the massive wall that encompassed most of the city.
“We are on the west side of London,” he said.
“Westminster is south of us, along the river. That big wall to the east is the ancient wall, one meant to protect the entire city from invaders. Some say the Romans built it. Mayhap my ancestors even built it.”
Douglass was looking at the big, dark wall with interest. “I would not be surprised,” she said. “The men of the House of de Shera seem to be quite accomplished.”
Tiberius was looking at her, digesting her delicate profile as she studied the city wall. “Have I told you recently how fortunate I am?” he asked softly.
Douglass looked up at him, a smile on her face. “You have, but you may tell me again.”
“I feel like the most fortunate man in all of England right now,” he confessed. “Never did I imagine that you would be with me this night. I thought… I truly thought that I would have to bide my time in order to take you away with me.”
Douglass’ smile faded and she reached up, gently touching his swollen lip, injured in his fight with d’Vant. “But you wanted to run away tonight,” she reminded him. “Did you think we would not be able to?”
He shook his head, an uncertain gesture. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “I was making plans, of course, but I had to go through five very fine knights in order to see my plan through. I truly thought I was going to have to fight your father or, at the very least, Garran.”
Douglass was watching his expression, sensing his distress. “Would you have really fought them?”
He sighed faintly. “I would have,” he said. “You are worth that and more to me. But I do not believe injuring your father or brother in my attempt to abduct you would have started our relationship off very well. We would always have that shadow over us.”
Sensing his depression and perhaps confusion, Douglass leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his tight torso.
Tiberius put his arms around her, holding her close and savoring her warmth, when the door next to them suddenly jerked open.
Standing in the darkened doorway was a priest in brown robes.
The man was smoothing at his thin, brown hair.
“What ’tis thee wish?” he asked.
He had a very strange accent. Tiberius peered at the little man. “We wish to be married,” he said. “I will pay for the service.”
The little man frowned. “Who are you?”
Tiberius had enough of questions. He wanted to marry Douglass so that even if d’Vant was pursuing them, he couldn’t legally take Douglass away.
Tiberius didn’t want to leave anything to chance but the more time this was taking, the more frustrated he was becoming.
Reaching out a big, long arm, he shoved the door back and pushed his way into the church.
“My name is Tiberius de Shera and my brother is the Earl of Coventry,” he repeated. “I am a premier knight for Simon de Montfort and unless you want de Montfort, Bigod, and the de Shera brothers down around your ears, I suggest you do as I ask. Bring a priest now to marry the lady and me.”
The church was so dark inside that Douglass literally had a hand out in front of her to prevent her from banging into any walls.
It smelled very strongly of burnt fat and smoke, odd smells from the Carmelite order of priests who burned such things.
She had a good hold on Tiberius, who was following the priest, so she essentially clung to him in the darkness as they made their way to a large, circular-shaped sanctuary.
There was a small bank of pasty-white, tallow candles burning, dripping fat onto the floor, and this room was better lit.
Douglass could see much more; the uneven dirt floor, the pillars that held up the ceiling, and the rather ornate ceiling itself.
The altar, conversely, was without adornment other than a red, silk covering over the wooden altar itself, and there were acolytes, young boys, scurrying around.
As Douglass watched, the priest who had brought them into the room issued commands to the boys and they fled.
Once the acolytes vanished, the priest turned to them.
“Now,” he said, looking mostly at Douglass. “Who gives permission for this woman to be wed? I do not see her father present.”
“My father is dead,” Douglass said quickly, realizing they would have a very big problem if her living father did not personally give his consent. “My parents are both dead. I was fostering at Codnor Castle and have pledged my troth to Lord Lockhurst. Will you marry us, please?”
The priest’s gaze lingered on her a moment before fixing on Tiberius. “Your intentions are honorable, my lord?”
“Of course they are.”