Chapter Eleven
He made her wear the red dress.
Roi only had one request for their wedding day, and it was that she wear the red dress, the dress she’d worn at their first real introduction.
It was such an exquisite garment in that deep ruby color, the color that symbolized love, and as she stood in front of the chapel of Lioncross Abbey as the priest from the village intoned the mass over her and Roi, she looked like a goddess.
Roi couldn’t take his eyes off her.
The day had started at sunrise when Dustin and her daughters arrived to help prepare Diara for the day.
Adalia and Dorian, along with Iris and a few of the younger girls, had also come to help because Dustin felt it was important that they all participate in such a major family event.
Diara had been asleep when they had entered her chamber, and, quite literally, she had been pulled from her bed.
Dustin ran a tight ship, and she had both the servants and her daughters jumping.
It was a big day.
A large copper tub had been brought into the room and filled with hot water and oils that smelled of flowers.
Diara had been stripped of her night shift and plunged into the tub, where Dustin and the ladies proceeded to scrub her within an inch of her life.
Her skin was washed with hard white soap, and her hair was washed with a solution of vinegar and flat ale.
Diara had to grip the sides of the tub to keep from being toppled over as her new family enthusiastically scrubbed her.
Eventually, however, the scrubbing ceased and she was rinsed and rinsed again before being instructed to climb out of the tub.
An enormous towel was waiting for her, and the buffeting she took from Dustin as the woman was drying her off was far worse than the scrubbing that had taken place in the tub.
In fact, Diara found herself giggling through the entire thing because she was being pummeled in the nicest sort of way.
Then came the combing and the anointing of oils.
Iris, still not entirely well from her illness, was put in charge of combing out Diara’s hair while Dustin and Rebecca and Dorian were charged with rubbing oil into her skin to soften it.
Diara simply sat there while several pairs of hands went to work on her from head to toe, even rubbing oil into her feet.
As she told Dustin, she felt like the Queen of Sheba.
Dustin had grinned at the comment.
But Diara suspected that some of this was to make up for what had happened the day before. Not that she minded, because she didn’t. In truth, she was incredibly touched by all of the fuss they made. It had made her feel very special, a worthy bride for their precious son.
As Christin prepared the red dress while everyone else focused on the bride, servants were brought in to fan Diara’s hair so it would sufficiently dry.
With Iris combing and the servants fanning, her hair dried quickly enough, and Dustin used a hot iron, set in the fire, to tame the natural curl that she had.
Her hair was pulled back, pinned back, and a garland of flowers was put on her head with a silken veil that Diara had brought from Cicadia.
It had belonged to her mother, and Ananda had worn it on her wedding day.
With everything set in place, the ladies escorted Diara out to the chapel, where Roi, the family, and several guests were waiting.
The moment was upon them.
Roi couldn’t take his eyes off her when she arrived, and Diara blushed modestly throughout the entire ceremony.
Roi couldn’t stop staring, and she couldn’t stop smiling.
They were nearly to the end of the mass when the sentries took up the cry at the gatehouse, announcing the arrival of the Earl and Countess of Cheltenham.
Perhaps they had arrived late, but that didn’t matter to Diara.
She was thrilled they’d made it at all. She hugged her mother fiercely and embraced her father tightly, apologizing to the man for any disobedience or trouble she might have caused him, but Robin seemed overjoyed to see her.
Not a harsh word passed between them, nor did any harsh words pass between him and Roi.
Robin was the model father of the bride, gracious to everyone.
He was everything Diara hoped he would be.
The wedding mass was finished with her parents by her side, and with that, Diara became Lady de Lohr.
Then came the wedding feast.
Since Diara and Roi were married around midday, the feast started immediately thereafter and went on well into the night.
Tiberius, back from his near-fatal beating from his mother, was the life of the party.
As if nothing terrible had happened the night before.
He drank, he sang, and he encouraged others to do the same.
The only one who came close to his antics was Peter’s son, Andrew, but every time he got out of hand and his father would shoot him an appraising look, he’d settle down to avoid a fatherly scolding.
But the process would repeat until Peter finally gave up and let his son have some fun.
There was plenty of laughter and singing to go around.
One of those singing was, in fact, Roi. He’d been roped into a few songs by Tiberius, Andrew, Douglas, and Westley, and every time he tried to leave, they’d grab him around the neck and make him stay.
Diara sat at the dais with Iris and her mother, laughing at Roi’s discomfort because he really wasn’t much of an exhibitionist. She’d heard him sing several songs, not the least of which was a tavern song about an old whore named Rose.
That song only came up once because when they realized it mentioned a whore, and because of the situation with Diara the night before, they quickly took that off their singing list. At one point, Roi pulled the soldier playing the lute over to the dais and had the man play a song for his new wife that soon had every woman at the table swooning.
In his surprisingly good baritone, he sang only for Diara.
Come roam with me, my love,
Come roam far with me,
Away from this hard world,
And love only me.
They said that you loved me,
They said that you cared.
They said that your strong heart,
Wasn’t mine to be shared.
When he was finished, the table exploded with applause, and that included Diara’s parents.
Roi reached out and took her hand, kissing it sweetly, but he was pulled away from the table by revelers who wanted to sing something more lively.
Diara simply waved at him, deliriously happy with a husband, and a wedding, that was far beyond anything she could have ever imagined.
Her father, in fact, had been watching everything.
Sitting with Christopher and Peter and Jameson Munro, Robin was still under the impression that the sooner he rid himself of his de Lohr attachments, the happier he would be.
He watched every man at the dais, the de Lohr relatives and sons and brothers, knowing that he was looking at the largest military might in England, but also knowing it only emphasized to him that he would never be able to control this bunch.
He’d be a very tiny part of a much bigger picture, and that wasn’t the life he wanted for himself.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen that before.
His greed to want the de Lohr ties had been his downfall.
He thought it would bring him prestige. He thought it would bring him power.
But he was coming to understand that the power wasn’t his, and it never would be.
Certainly, he was an earl—and he had a good-sized army and wealth—but the de Lohrs were in a league all their own, and it was nothing he would be able to compete with.
Robin didn’t like being a small fish in a big pond.
He knew now, more than ever, that the de Lohr betrothal he’d begged for years ago had been a mistake.
He wanted out.
“Do you hunt?”
Robin was jolted from his train of thought by a question coming from Christopher. The man was seated next to him, cup of fine wine in hand, and Robin turned to him with a weak smile.
“From time to time,” he said. “I prefer to spend my time traveling as opposed to hunting. I have lands in France, you know.”
Christopher shook his head. “I did not,” he said. “Where?”
“Near Caen,” Robin said. “Something left to me by a distant cousin. Rich land, however. I enjoy spending summers there.”
“I didn’t realize you summered out of England.”
Robin nodded. “I have for years,” he said. “Ananda and Diara have never gone, and I prefer that. A man should have a place all his own, a place of peace. Chateaux Beuville is mine.”
“What do you do for respite there?”
Robin shrugged. “I read,” he said. “But I will tell you a secret—there is a lake on the property, and I like to fish. Seems like a rather common pursuit, but I enjoy it.”
Christopher grinned. “I used to take my sons fishing,” he said. “We would go to the River Arrow, which is not far from here. I can still see five young boys all lined up along the bank and Westley screaming because he cannot catch any fish.”
Robin’s expression flickered, suggestive of a man who was highly jealous over the fact that he had no sons to speak of. “Mayhap it taught him patience in the end,” he said without enthusiasm. “I would not know about young boys. I only had a daughter, and she was raised by women.”
“And she is a fine young woman,” Christopher said. “We all like her very much.”
Robin’s lips twitched with a grateful, though insincere, smile. “Good,” he said. “Though I am sorry for Beckett, I am grateful for Roi. He and I were great friends when we fought together in France.”
Christopher nodded. “I know,” he said. “He told me that you command a fine army.”
Robin shrugged. “I hope so,” he said. “They are well paid. I pay men to train them well. But I am still wholly grateful for the de Lohr alliance. I have been having some trouble, you know.”