The Countess Bride. Terri Brisbin
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of the young women under consideration and then flicked back to the empty seat at his side, empty due to the absence of his daughter.
Geoffrey’s observations were interrupted by his brother’s announcement. “The stable master informs me that the horses are at the ready for our hunt. Come.”
Geoff joined Christian and the other noblemen and made his way to the stable yard. They would hunt with dogs this day, but he knew that Emalie enjoyed using the hawks and would plan a hunt for men and women using those. Soon, amid the barking and yelling and dust and men in the yard, he lost all thoughts of a bride and faced the challenges of a hunt.
Catherine sat at the longest of the tables near the kitchen hearth, finishing a bowl of steaming porridge. With most of the men leaving for the hunt for much of the day, she would have a chance to complete some arrangements. Supplies of food and wine and ale would travel with them so they could eat in the forest rather than coming back for the noon meal. The fruits of their labors would grace the table tonight. Catherine stood when Emalie approached.
“Nay, Catherine. Sit and finish your meal.”
Emalie walked to another table and examined the foods laid out on it. Nodding, she inspected the quality and quantity of the breads and wheels of cheese. The cook arrived at her side. Now Catherine did join them, anxious to assist in any way she could.
After a short time, Emalie and the cook had agreed to the dishes that would be served at the night’s feast, and arrangements had been made to retrieve any game or animals captured in the hunt. Catherine walked at her side as they left the kitchens by way of the back courtyard. She did not ask their destination, but followed along. Soon they arrived at the small graveyard where many of the Montgomerie family were buried.
But they were not there to show respect for the dead. This was also one of few places that offered any privacy in the sometimes frenzied world of Greystone Castle. And privacy was needed to discuss the startling contents of the reverend mother’s latest missive regarding Catherine. They stopped near the low stone wall, and Catherine waited until Emalie had taken a seat on the bench next to the wall before sitting, as well.
“I would like you to attend the feast tonight, Catherine.” Although she clearly tried to soften her tone, it was more of an order than a request.
Catherine shook her head as she answered.
“’Tis not possible, my lady. I have no place there.”
“You are my ward, Catherine. You do belong there.”
Catherine faced her and let the sadness she carried within show on her face. ’Twas something she had never seen before in this strength, so Emalie knew Catherine trusted her.
“I still do not understand how you can look at me at all, let alone with the generosity you do, my lady. We both know that I am the sister of your enemy, an orphan without family or connections and without wealth. I would be happier—”
“Taking the veil?” Emalie interrupted.
Catherine blushed and stammered and then just stopped and waited. Emalie could see her trying to regain control as she realized that her secret was known.
“My lady, I would have told you myself once I was sure.”
“The decision is not made, then? The reverend mother misunderstood your words?”
If there was anyone less suited for the convent than Catherine, she knew her not. The vitality and curiosity that was just beginning to reappear would wither and die in religious life. This girl, denied too many years of life, needed to be among people and to enjoy life and to find love.
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears and she bowed her head, not meeting Emalie’s gaze. Emalie thought, and not for the first time since bringing Catherine to Greystone, that mayhap she had handled this badly. Had it been cruel, as Christian had warned, to bring her here and give her a sample of a life she could never have? But then her husband had established a small dowry for Catherine, so marriage was not out of the question for her.
Emalie shifted on the hard seat and took Catherine’s hand in hers. Would the dowry so generously established now pay Catherine’s entry into the convent in Lincoln? Would she never know the joys of bearing children and having a husband to care for? As if in answer to her silent question, Catherine spoke.
“The reverend mother understood me well, my lady. This is to be my last visit to Greystone. My studies are nearly done and I am ready to take my vows.”
“Why, Catherine? Why enter the convent and spend your life as a Gilbertine sister?” Emalie waited for an answer. She suspected that she knew the truth of this and wondered if Catherine trusted her enough to share it with her.
“The reverend mother and sisters at the convent have been so kind to me. They cared for me during my…illness and have encouraged me since. They have taught me so much, not only from books, my lady, but in their practices and their life.” A desperate undertone laced her words, as though she were trying to convince herself and not Emalie.
“Those are all reasons to give thanks and generous donations and to offer prayers to God so that the sisters may continue their good works with others. But Catherine, those are not the reasons why you should enter their life. Tell me why you should join them.”
Discomfort flashed over the girl’s face and Emalie felt a pang of guilt for causing it. But if this was Catherine’s choice, she would support her in this desire to join the religious life. If it was not…
“Have you not thought of marriage for yourself?”
A terrible expression of loss haunted Catherine’s eyes and a soul-deep despair was now clearly written on her face. It was so obvious that Emalie’s own heart hurt from it. This was not about beginning a new life as a nun. This was, as she had suspected, about losing Geoffrey.
“With no family?” Catherine asked. “With no memory of my past other than what you or the reverend mother have shared with me? How can I enter into a marriage contract under the false pretenses in which I live? What do I offer a prospective husband?”
Emalie watched as silent tears slipped down Catherine’s pale cheeks. So much pain for someone who had not lived a score of years. She reached up and brushed a few strands of hair from Catherine’s damp cheeks.
“You have much to offer. You are an intelligent woman with much learning. You have handled many duties of the keep while here with me, so I doubt you would have any difficulty handling the tasks of chatelaine for a husband. You are of a suitable age to marry and there are no physical impairments to keep you from bearing children. You would make any man a more than acceptable wife.”
Catherine thought on the countess’s words. The problem for her lay within them, for she did not want to be “suitable” or “acceptable.” She did not want to be “without impairments.” She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be wanted. She wanted to be pursued for her own value and not the purse or land that came with her.
What foolishness to think such things! Even she knew such thoughts were ridiculous. ’Twas simply the way of things that women were wanted for what they brought and men for their abilities to manage and protect. Marriages among the noble class were simply that—contracted arrangements. And her biggest folly was to even consider for a moment that she could be Geoffrey’s wife.
Catherine removed her hand from the countess’s grasp and stood. The day was early, but already the heat was building. A breeze moved the smaller branches of the tree that provided them with some shade, and Catherine walked to its trunk and leaned against it. Pulling out a linen square from her sleeve, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and cheeks.
These overwhelming feelings must be some last moment of weakness and unresolve within her. She was content with her decision. She had thought about all the questions that the countess had raised, and knew she had but one choice for her life. If she could not marry Geoffrey, she wanted to marry no man. And so the convent was her only option, nay, her only refuge, to avoid an unwanted marriage.
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