Domning, Denise by Winter's Heat

all I've been taught to hold dear has been taken from me. Now I am asked to accept, without comment or complaint, a life that is wholly foreign to me. I know nothing of being a wife, but I have learned much about the running and maintenance of an estate. It may be you will find my manner too straightforward for your tastes, but, my lord, it is just that—my manner. Would that I die before I give up that part of me."
    Outside, the wind howled and sleet spattered the shutter. Unexpectedly, Rannulf felt the stirrings of respect amid the bitter dregs of his disappointment. Perhaps if he had never married Isotte, things could have been different for them. His shoulders drooped under the burden of his pain. It was too late for that. "I will not argue with you." There was nothing but dullness left in his heart. He turned his back on her and shoved his feet into his boots. "Graistan keep will be at your disposal, even if its lord is not. Be ready to leave within the hour."
    "As you wish, my lord," she said quietly, almost meekly. He spun on his heel and jerked open the door. A maid nearly fell into the room. The hapless woman cried out in surprise as she dodged him, but he did not pause in his haste to be away from his wife.
    Rowena listened until she was sure her husband was beyond earshot. Then, she dropped her blanket and reached for her robe. Had she meant to goad him into violence? Was it disappointment she'd felt when he hadn't struck her as she had expected? It was as if she'd wanted to see his passion, any passion be it even hate, rather than the dullness he showed toward her.
    "My lady," the maid cried out, "do not rise yet. The sheets! I must call your mother to witness."
    "Sweet Mary, there can be no doubt of my purity, whether I remain upon the bed or not. Bring me water for washing and fresh, warm clothing. I am not wont to wear my wedding garb again this day." She paused to add beneath her breath, "or ever." Then, she continued more loudly. "There is much to be done. Inform the Lady Edith my husband desires to leave within the hour."
    "What?!" the maid squeaked.
    Rowena yanked on her bed robe and cinched the belt tight. "I've got no time to waste, woman. Move!"
    The poor woman leapt to do her bidding, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Rowena almost smiled as she shut the door. At least she had clarified the terms of their marriage.

    Rowena huddled more deeply into her cloak, cold beyond complaint. Even protected by thick, leather gloves, her hands had lost all feeling. Her hair, though covered by her wimple and a fur-lined hood, was damp with the icy rain.
    Her husband pulled the bay he rode into line with her little mare. She glanced up at him. Where his cloak and surcoat did not cover it, his chain mail gleamed with the moisture it collected. "How much farther, my lord?" Her voice was hoarse.
    "Too far," he snapped.
    The continuing drizzle had turned the road into naught but thick and frigid mud, it being not quite cold enough to completely freeze. Burdened as they were with the ox-drawn carts, their progress had been at a snail's pace. After a moment's angry silence, he called back to his master-at-arms who rode a short distance behind them. "Can we move them no faster?" He stared in disgust at the peasants and their beasts of burden.
    In those carts was her new wardrobe along with the massive bed that had once been her mother's. Her father had actually threatened to throw everything from the top of Benfield's wall if they did not take it with them. Although her husband had protested vehemently stating his need for haste, he could not afford to refuse; the bed was too rich an item to risk. He had agreed.
    She turned slightly on her saddle to consider Temric, her husband's man. His expression remained stonily impassive beneath the hood of his plain, woolen cloak. The taciturn man wore armor of the plainest sort with no sign of decoration. Bearded and of medium height, his even features spoke of common