Chapter Five
Supper had been a nightmare, long and drawn out, her throat raw from having sung eight hymns for the king.
Knowing what was coming at the end of that supper made her want to run off and hide, fleeing from a dismal future with an indifferent husband, but like a great torture scene in some horrifically bad nightmare, Annavieve was forced to endure the lengthy and loud meal.
As the night progressed, the room became smokier as the fire in the hearth broke down and the participants of the feast grew drunker as they ingested all of the alcohol on the table, in the room, and probably in the entire palace.
So she sat, still and alone, the only woman at the table of loud men.
There were conversations going on, some involving the king, some not, and there was laughter on occasion.
Annavieve sat and stared at her lap, knowing old Magda was behind her and wishing for the woman’s comfort.
It was the only comfort she had ever known.
Across the table from her sat Hage’s two knights, men he had introduced as Adonis de Norville and Thomas de Wolfe.
They were the only ones in the room paying any attention to Annavieve but even then it was only distant politeness.
Their conversation was quiet but when she would happen to look up, or glance their way, they would pause and smile courteously.
Annavieve would quickly look at her lap again. Men made her nervous.
On and on it went, into the night, until the king had finally had enough conversation and alcohol. When the man stood up, weaving, and put an end to the meal, things began to change quickly.
As the king moved away from the table, people began to scatter. Edward began shouting to his advisors and servants alike, demanding everyone follow him across the yards and complex to Westminster Abbey.
In a group they moved as servants carried torches, with Victor being pulled along by Edward as Kevin, Adonis, and Thomas surrounded Annavieve as both escort and captors.
Victor was obviously reluctant so no one knew how the lady felt; better not to let her escape.
With three enormous knights convening around her, Annavieve, holding Magda’s hand tightly, followed the king and his entourage through the dark and sleeping palace.
It didn’t feel as if they were about to attend a wedding. It felt more like an execution. Dogs barked as they passed through corridors, waking them, before finally emerging into the old palace yard and headed towards the colossal abbey now silhouetted by the half-moon.
Torches, burning brightly and smelling of fat, created spots of brilliance against the dark sky as the group shuffled across the yard at a clipped pace.
It seemed as if the king was in a hurry to marry his cousin off before the man could escape so, without the usual preparations or announcements or contract negotiations, the marriage would take place.
Edward wanted it that way. What the king wanted, the king received.
Westminster Abbey was cold and dark and cavernous as the king barged his way in, sending two sleepy acolytes running for the priests.
As the boys fled, a few of the king’s advisors began to light the candles around them to provide a measure of light against the darkness.
Phantoms lurked in the shadows of the ancient abbey.
In little time, priests were produced, including a minor canon.
The dean was not in residence that night so the canon, a small and nervous man in the face of the king, was to be the man conducting the marriage mass.
Quickly, the mass and liturgy were prepared as Edward demanded more wine from the acolytes and was brought something very sweet and heavy. He liked it.
Annavieve was overwhelmed with the entire circumstance.
She simply did as she was told, fearful of the big knights around her, even fearful of Hage, who had been so kind to her.
The man was a killer from what she had heard during the course of the evening, men speaking in hushed tones about the Scorpion and his victims, so she wasn’t sure what to think of him.
Perhaps he was polite on the surface but if she made a wrong move, his politeness might turn into something deadly.
Therefore, she didn’t want to make a wrong move. She did what she was told to do.
And she was told to stand with Victor as the canon began the mass near the front section of the abbey where a large altar was positioned.
Having never been inside of the Benedictine abbey, it was all quite large and awesome, smelling heavily of dirt and incense.
Since Annavieve had been raised in a convent, the smells and sounds were rather comforting to her.
Here, in the middle of this wild situation, she was feeling some comfort.
However, it wasn’t enough to stave off the apprehension, which was growing by the minute.
The canon had horrifically-smelling breath, as if the man was rotting from the inside, as he stood close to Annavieve and Victor, reciting the wedding liturgy.
He spoke their vows, asking them to repeat them, which Annavieve did politely and Victor did angrily.
Edward, standing behind his cousin, pasted a fake smile on his face for the entire ceremony.
When it was finished, sealed by a silken ribbon provided by the canon which was really part of the drapery that covered the altar, Edward grinned.
It was usual to seal a marriage by tying a symbolic ribbon or rope around the wrists of the bride and groom, forever tying them together, but the marriage was so hasty that none of that had been provided by the parties to be wed.
The acolytes had to scramble for something.
Soon enough, however, the ceremony was over and Annavieve gazed up into the face of her new husband.
She may as well have been looking into the face of the man who hated her most in the world because that was exactly the attitude Victor was portraying.
He didn’t want her and he would make sure everyone in the chamber knew it. Annavieve simply felt sick.
Victor was heartily congratulated by the king and his advisors whereas Annavieve was left to stand with Magda, Kevin, Adonis, and Thomas.
They stood in an oddly quiet group, well apart from Edward and his congratulatory speeches.
But the king soon came away from Victor and made his way to Annavieve, holding out a hand to her as she curtsied before him.
When she stood up, he took her hand in his big, rough one.
“Lady de Ferrers,” he said, sounding relieved. “May I congratulate you as the new Duchess of Dorset. ’Tis a prestigious title you now bear. I know you will do it proud.”
Annavieve felt as if she were sinking under the weight of her new title. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “I will do my best.”
Edward squeezed her hand and let it go. “I know you will,” he said, his gaze lingering on her.
“I realize that my cousin is somewhat resistant to this union, but give him time. He shall come to see the wisdom of it and I know he will treat you with the respect your station deserves. If you ever need me, however… do not hesitate to send word. I will answer.”
It was a strangely generous thing to say now that he’d saddled her with what was inarguably the world’s most reluctant groom. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, although she wasn’t quite sure what more to say to him. “I… I am sure that will not be necessary.”
Edward simply shrugged, knowingly, as if brushing off his offer altogether. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before turning back to Victor and his advisors, now standing in a circle several feet away. He held up his hands to get their attention.
“Victor,” he said firmly. “Take your new wife to your rooms. I will not see you again until morning. Is that clear?”
Victor knew exactly what the man meant and it took all of his strength of will not to roll his eyes, stamp his feet, or otherwise display his extreme resistance to what was being suggested.
Victor knew, for a fact, that there was no possible way he was going to consummate the marriage this night or any night.
He had no intention of ever touching the woman, ever, which made the production of the heir Edward so badly wanted rather difficult.
If Edward did not get his heir, then he might very well take the Scorpion back and give him to someone else.
Therefore, Victor knew it was imperative that the girl become pregnant somehow.
He only knew he would not do it. Therefore, it stood to reason that if he would not do it, he would find someone who would.
That being the case, he might even watch to know that it had been done.
Scorpion. His gaze moved to Hage, standing as tall and silent as the grave several feet away from the new duchess, and an idea occurred to him.
Hage was sworn to do his bidding, was he not?
The man had declared his taste for women at the feast earlier that night, had he not?
Victor eyed the distant figure of Sir Kevin Hage…
tall, powerful, and deadly. Perhaps the duchess would find herself pregnant, after all, and with very fine stock indeed.
The seed of a legend would take hold in her womb.
Hage liked women; let him complete the unwelcome task that Victor was loathed to consider.
Let Hage father the next duke.
As Victor pondered his devious plan, he realized that Edward was expecting him to respond in some way. With a heavy sigh, one of resignation, regret, and of some relief in the comfort of his scheme, Victor moved towards Annavieve.
“Come with me,” he said to her. Then, he pointed to Hage. “You will escort us.”
Kevin nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”