Authors: A Kiss To Die For
Claudia Dain (51 page)
Ulrich had not yet found the opportunity to charm any of the women into issuing such an invitation. Given time, he would. He had all the optimism of a young man who had not yet failed in matters of romance.
With a lopsided smile and a shrug of his wide shoulders, Ulrich departed the tower, searching for a fellow squire on whom to pour friendship and gossip and learn of the history of Weregrave in return. He would be subtle—had he not vowed to be?—and he would be quick. Perhaps if he had found a maid he would have tarried a bit, but what pleasure in tarrying with a man?
It took less time than he would have supposed to pry out the secrets of Weregrave, but only because there were no secrets. Nay, all knew. It was only Rowland who was in ignorance as to the history of his bride and Ulrich commanded himself not to shake with outrage at King Henry's gift. Rowland, after all his suffering, deserved better.
Ulrich raced up the tower stair. Rowland met him at the door to William's chamber and faced him squarely. Rowland's expression was open and calm. That such news must be vomited out on such a man... Ulrich fought his anger. Rowland had bathed and dressed, to add honor to his vows of fidelity and constancy. Rowland deserved so much better than what Weregrave offered him.
"Tell me of her husband," he said.
Ulrich swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice from shaking. "Which one, Lord Rowland? Of which husband would you have me speak?"
"How, boy, what say you?" William asked.
"Tell me what you learned," Rowland said very softly.
"Of husbands, Lady Nicolaa has had four."
"Four! Is she four times a widow?" William asked.
"Nay, not ever a widow."
"Repudiated?" Rowland asked. What was so wrong with her that she had been rejected four times? He had seen no flaw.
"Nay, not repudiated," Ulrich said. "Though it is said her last husband was mouthing the words. Nay, king, overlord, and bishop have invalidated each marriage for one reason or another, leaving her husbands free to marry again."
"And did they?" Rowland asked.
"Aye, each one, and in untimely haste. Each man taking a bride of greater worth or greater favor. Leaving no child behind."
He had heard of it. He had seen it once or twice in his life. A marriage invalidated for the thinnest of reasons or the weightiest. In one instance, a husband and wife found to be within the sixth degree of consanguinity after fifteen years of marriage. The wife had finished her days in a convent. The husband had died with a sixteen-year-old bride of considerable worth in his bed. And how had King Henry II come by his wife, Eleanor, she who had jumped from the bed of the King of France to climb in with Henry of England, dragging her Aquitaine riches along with her? Aye, it was done, though it was never well done.
"No child?" William said, his anger growing with his concern. "She has never quickened with child, even to produce it stillborn?"
"Nay, there has been no child, living or dead," Ulrich said.
This was the worst of it. A woman who could not produce a child left her line without an heir; all that had been achieved in this life was lost without a blood heir to carry the name and the legacy of a man into the future.
"You must not do this, Rowland," William said. "I know your heart softens for her even now for what she has faced, but you cannot chain yourself to a woman who is barren. Your future will be as barren as she is."
But what of Nicolaa? Four times cast off and each time by a husband who had sworn to stand by her. How bruised her heart must be to have been so used. That explained the stillness of her; she held herself in the stiff quiet of great pain, her body braced for the next buffeting at the hands of her next husband. It was as he had known. She was fearful—if not trembling in fear then frigid with the unending shock of it. How great was her need of a man who would stand true to her.
Had she loved any of her husbands? Had they left her for no reason but greater profit with another wife? He would not do the same to her.
Let her be barren. It did not matter to him. His future had died with Lubias.
He would remain with Nicolaa.
Claudia graduated from the University of Southern California with a BA in English. While there she became a member of Alpha Phi, one of the oldest sororities in America. A two-time Rita finalist, she has won numerous writing awards and honors since her first novel was published in 2000. She has lived for most of her life in Los Angeles, called Connecticut home for a decade, and currently lives in North Carolina with her husband.
Excerpt - To Burn by Claudia Dain