Page 28 of The Raven and the Rose
Neville cast a warning glance at his daughter to watch her tongue. “The cathedral has a very long aisle; you don’t think you’ll faint, do you?” he asked Rebecca worriedly.
“I might,” she conceded with a whisper.
Roseanna rolled her eyes heavenward. The coach didn’t have far to go because the minster was part of the Norman-built royal buildings of York.
The bride and groom were not supposed to see each other until they faced the altar, but Roger and Tristan Montford had just arrived when Roseanna’s coach drew up. Neville reached across Rebecca to open the small door. She had a difficult time extracting herself from the ornate vehicle. Tristan stepped forward, his older brother hard upon his heels, and helped his wife to alight.
Roseanna looked down directly into Ravenspur’s dark eyes and said deliberately, “I need no man’s help!”
Roger bowed low. “You are flying your banners. I recognize your challenge.” His eyes swept her from head to foot. He knew he had chosen well. She was the loveliest sight he had ever beheld, and he could not wait to claim her. She swept past him on her father’s arm; Rebecca had to scurry to catch up with her.
One corner of Tristan’s mouth went up as the pair walked toward the vestry door. He spoke the battle prayer that was used before going into combat: “May God grant you gain this day, my lord.”
Roger gave the reply to the battle prayer: “This day is mine, for God defends my right.” The two brothers subdued their grins before they approached the altar.
York Minster was the largest Gothic cathedral in all of England. As Roseanna looked up toward its vaulted ceilings outlined in gold, her breath almost left her, so magnificent and rich was the setting.
The voices of the choirboys raised on high were so sweet and so innocent that they brought a lump to Roseanna’s throat. Though the cathedral was vast, the pews were filled to capacity. Roseanna had a difficult time picking out familiar faces in the large crowd.
King Edward and his attendants were seated in his private pew at the front of the cathedral. He drew everyone’s eye. Still annoyed with him and not ready to forgive him, Roseanna was determined not to look in his direction once during the ceremony.
The singing voices died away, and the clear notes of the virginal rose and echoed throughout the church. Neville squeezed his daughter’s hand, and they began their slow promenade.
Roseanna’s eyes flew to the figure awaiting her at the altar. With his back toward her, she was free to indulge in bad manners. She stared her fill. He was dressed in black velvet. The shoulders of the padded doublet were so wide she could hardly believe it, yet she knew the garment exaggerated his width only slightly. He was so tall, he towered above his brother and even above the prelate, who stood on the altar’s steps. His raven-black hair had been freshly trimmed, yet it curled against his white collar.
The Latin prayers seemed interminable, but finally the bishop stepped forward and in forbidding tones began the solemnization of matrimony. Roseanna clutched the arm of her father as the bishop intoned, “It is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.” He looked at Roseanna sternly and raised his voice as if he were passing a sentence upon her. She listened tensely.
“Marriage was ordained for the hallowing of the union betwixt man and woman; for the procreation of children” —Roseanna shuddered—“to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord; and for the mutual society, help and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, in both prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Roseanna closed her eyes and envisioned a shining knight stepping forward. His face was beautiful, for it had God’s light upon it.“She is mine,”he said simply. Another man stepped forward, dressed in black robes with a hood covering his head, looking like a judge who was about to pass sentence.“Ravenspur is no fit husband. He murdered his last wife.”
Roseanna’s eyes flew open as the bishop intoned, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
“I do,” said Neville Castlemaine solemnly. Before he took a step forward, Roseanna stood on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. Such an unorthodox thing to do, yet so touching. A murmur of approval went through the congregation. Roseanna saw tears in Neville’s eyes as she stepped forward and Ravenspur turned to receive her.
She did not lower her lashes, for she knew the veil concealed her features well. He was so close, she could see the faint dark shadow upon his chin that remained no matter how closely he shaved. She saw the diamond earring he was wearing, yet it glittered no brighter than his eyes as their darkness reflected the flickering light of the tapers on the altar.
All her senses were heightened. The acrid smell of candle wax, mixed with the cloying scent of incense, came to her. Her ears picked up a jealous remark and also close behind her the soft sound of Rebecca’s weeping. She felt a garter cutting into her thigh and the embroidered chemise rubbing against her nipples.
She wanted to cry out in protest, but when she opened her mouth, the response, “I will,” slipped out of its own volition. Her eyes were drawn to her left hand, which Ravenspur was holding so tightly, she thought the circulation of her blood had surely stopped. With hands at least twice the size of hers, he was placing a band of gold upon her third finger. Half an inch in width, it gleamed dully as she felt its substantial weight. The bishop said something about a kiss, and Ravenspur was lifting her veil. She had time only for an indrawn breath before his mouth came down firmly upon hers; then her thoughts exploded.You dare to assume you can seal this marriage with a kiss! I’ll show you otherwise if it kills me! You may be my husband, but you will never own the smallest part of me!
After the kiss her mind seemed to go blank. Later, she knew she had signed the register; she knew she had traversed the long aisle held close against Ravenspur’s side; she knew she had run through clouds of rice and rose petals to the din of deafening cheers; and she knew she had ridden back to the banquet with Ravenspur anchored to her side. Yet she did not emerge from her trancelike state until she was seated on the dais with her husband on her left and the King on her right.
Edward’s eyes teased her. “So fair, yet so cruel,” he whispered. “You could not spare me one look.”
“And what was your reply when I asked to be spared?” she retaliated.
“Spared?” echoed Roger, hearing every word.
“From a fate worse than death!” she added with relish.
Ned and Roger exchanged grins.
The dishes served were culinary masterpieces: roasted swans and cranes sat beside platters holding suckling pigs and haunches of venison. The spits had been busy since dawn roasting lambs and oxen; kitchen boys staggered carrying roasted boars.
Acutely conscious of Roseanna, Ravenspur bent low and murmured, “You’d better eat something before all the toasts begin.”
She bristled. “Are you afraid I will become flown with wine and disgrace you, my lord?”
