The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series Read Online Free PDF Page A

mounted the circular stair quietly, clad in metal though he was, passing through the ground floor storeroom until he reached the hall on the first floor. He was well pleased with what he saw there. The hall filled the whole of the first floor and was well lit by wind holes. A fire roared in the mammoth hearth, emitting waves of heat that warmed the chill stone of the room. The wooden planks of the floor were well swept, the rushes woven into a neat mat and clean. Directly behind the lord's table, pristine in its white linen, a large tapestry depicting a knight in full armor beneath the shadow of Christ's Holy Cross fluttered sporadically in the breeze from the wind holes. Lining the perimeter of the room, tables and benches for soldiers and servants provided ample seating; it was the place he had always occupied before. Before today. Today and for always, the high table would be his.
    Again he sought out Cathryn. She had abandoned her post by Father Godfrey and stood in yet another earnest conversation, this time with a servant—by the look of him, the castle steward. William, his own face quite earnest, moved across the room to speak with Father Godfrey. He would know what they had spoken of and he would know it now. This niggling doubt as to Cathryn's obedience to the king would be killed—and quickly.
    Keeping his voice low, he bluntly demanded of the priest, "Your conversation with Lady Cathryn was long. Did she seek your counsel in avoiding this marriage?"
    Father Godfrey could not keep the spark of amusement from his eyes as he faced William, nor did he try overly hard.
    "Nay, William."
    It was hardly a sufficient answer, to William's mind. He pressed, "Does she try to delay the signing? For there will be no delay. My mind will not rest until this matter is settled."
    "Nay, William, we spoke not of the marriage," Godfrey answered with a smile.
    "If she wanted to know something of the man she is pledged to, it would have been better to—"
    "William, we spoke not of you," Godfrey interrupted with a wide smile.
    William le Brouillard, known on three continents for his fighting ability and his beauty of from, frowned down at the priest.
    "Lady Cathryn," Godfrey supplied, "is quite anxious for me to say a mass for the dead." At William's blank look, he added, "That is all that we spoke of, William."
    "Then you must say one at the soonest opportunity," William answered calmly, his composure back in place.
    Godfrey nodded in acquiescence, his own expression carefully bland.
    William, hearing Rowland approach, turned to face him, more than glad to abandon his conversation with Father Godfrey. They scanned the hall together. It was not the hall itself that occupied his thoughts now, but the inhabitants. Servants moved briskly about the space, intent on their purpose, talking and mumbling and directing each other without pausing for breath. Rowland watched for William's reaction. Ulrich's words rang true; there was not a man or woman who was under forty years of age, and each and every one was filthy. Their clothes were encrusted and stiff with the grime of months, if not years. Streaks of dirt smeared faces, trails of meat fat ran along the sides of mouths, and fingernails were black instead of white.
    The servants of Greneforde stank.
    Of them all, only Lady Cathryn was clean, and in her white gown she stood out as a beacon fire on a black night.
    Rowland looked again at William. Across Syria, Armenia, Cappadocia, Phrygia; in Antioch, Edessa, and Dorylaeum; from Moldavia and Bohemia and Saxony; in the lands of Champagne, Blois, and, naturally, Normandy, William le Brouillard was well known for his fighting skill, his beauty, and... his cleanliness. In the arid sands of Damascus, where water was more precious than pearls and men sold their horses for a mere cupful of it, William had been clean. It was not that he had an unmasculine fear of dirt and hard labor—no one who knew him long could make that accusation. It was just