The Holding by Claudia Dain

From the Publisher

It is done. She is his wife. Wife of a knight so silent and stealthy, they call him “The Fog.” Everything Lady Cathryn of Greneforde owns—castle, lands and people—is now safe in his hands. But there is one barrier yet to be breached....There is a secret at Greneford Castle, a secret embodied in its seemingly obedient mistress and silent servants. Betrayal, William fears, awaits him on his wedding night. But he has vowed to take possession of the holding his king has granted him. To do so he must know his wife completely, take her in the most elemental and intimate holding of all.

Romantic Times - Kathe Robin

Filled with the aura of the 12th century and much of the reality of the middle ages, The Holding is a romance that brings historical detail and passion together. Readers are given an accurate portrait of the cruelties, while at the same time, a fantasy to fill their dreams.

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The Holding

Dorchester Publishing

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-8439-4858-2

Chapter One

William le Brouillard, Greneforde's new lord, would not be
pleased with his prize. That was Kendall's first thought upon
beholding his overlord's lands. Kendall reined in and cast his
eyes around him, letting his breath out slowly. Nineteen years
of war had taken its toll on William's hard-won holding.

Fields that should have been cleared and turned were broken
wastelands of scorched earth dotted with struggling seedlings
of oak and hemlock. The forest was encroaching steadily on the
cleared land; forest that had once been beaten back to the
fringes and held there diligently by sweat-soaked effort was
relentlessly advancing on what should have been Greneforde's
prime food source. There would be no corn this winter. A wet
gust of wind blew against his face, and his stomach rumbled in
protest at the assault; it would be a hungry season.

Leading his squire on, Kendall was struck by the absence of
huts. Where were the villeins? Was that why the land lay
fallow? Was there no one left to work the land? His stomach
rumbled again, this time in trepidation. He did not want to be
the messenger who brought William the news that his holding
was a name on the Domesday Book and nothing more.

As if to mock him, Greneforde appeared suddenly out of the
gray gloomlooking reassuringly solid. The battlements were
sound and the roof intact; there was even rising smoke from
within the enclosure. The curtain wall, although of wood,
looked sturdy, and one tower had been constructed of stone.
Kendall's stomach ceased its complaining: Greneforde Tower was
sound, but what was a sound great tower with no food to
sustain the inhabitants?

Just then a woman appeared on the battlements, a woman where
there should have been only battle-ready men. Silently they
studied each other. At this distance, he could not make out
her features, and there was something in her manner that
warned against riding any closer to the curtain. He could see
that her hair was fair and that she held herself erect; her
mantle went beyond ordinary to be indescribably plain. They
watched each other as warily as prospective opponents, and he
found himself unnerved by her silent regard. It was almost
ghostly the way the tower had appeared out of the fog and she
with it. His squire mumbled uncomfortably behind him, stirring
him to action.

"I am from King Henry II of England, overlord of Aquitaine,
Normandy, Maine, Anjou, Touraine, Poitou, Guienne, and
Gascony." Hearing no response, Kendall continued: "In light of
Cathryn of Greneforde's orphaned state, the king has pledged
her in marriage to William le Brouillard, who even now
approaches to fulfill the king's command."

After a pause that could be counted in heartbeats, the woman
on the wall nodded sharply, making no other response to his
royal proclamation.

Kendall squirmed in his saddle, adjusting his sword, liking
the reassuring weight of it in this desolate place of
thrashing branches against a leaden sky and a woman who stood
far too silently in the face of such news.

"Do you understand?" he asked awkwardly.

Again he saw her nod.

Kendall could sense more than hear his squire backing his
horse away from him, away from the woman on the wall, away
from Greneforde. Being a knight of some renown, he could not
allow himself the same indulgence, else his renown would be
for his cowardice rather than his skill at arms.

The clouds that had covered the sun in a thick mat thinned
suddenly, and multiple shafts of warm light pierced the air
around the tower. Kendall caught his breath. What the gloom
had hidden, the light revealed. The soil beneath him, broken
though it was, was rich earth, earth that would welcome any
seed. The great tower was constructed of yellow sandstone with
arched wind holes and buttresses at the angles. And the
woman ... Her hair was of palest gold, warm and rich, hanging
to a length beyond his view.

On impulse, Kendall asked, "Are you Lady Cathryn of
Greneforde?"

As he was coming to expect, she did not speak, answering with
a brusque nod, and then she did something new: she vanished.
It seemed an odd reaction to news of her marriage.

Turning his mount, disgusted to see that his squire was by now
a mere dot in the distance, Kendall reflected wryly, "At least
William is not to be cursed with a shrewish wife.

The river Brent was swollen with rain, but William and his men
eventually found shallows by which to cross. They were upriver
from Greneforde in his estimation, and so eager was he for his
first look that he did not wait for those who followed, but
charged up the opposing bank and turned westward, praying that
the light rain would not obscure his first glimpse of Henry's
gift.

William snorted under his breath. Gift it hardly was after the
years he had spent in proving his worth to the future monarch
of Britain. Many had flocked to Henry's banner when it was
decided and agreed upon by Stephen that Matilda's son would
assume the crown at his death. Maud and Stephen had wrestled
through their prime years for the right to rule
England-battled with the tide turning first in favor of the
one and then the other until they were both too old to fight,
with the land and people of England the hardest hit in their
struggle for power. There would be peace now, God willing,
with Henry II on the throne-years of peace and time for
England to heal. William prayed that Henry's rule would be
long and prosperous-long and prosperous for them both.

Many had gathered themselves around Henry when he was named
successor, hoping to advance their own plans, but Henry of
Anjou was no fool, and of the many who had pursued him for
their own selfish reasons, few remained. William had followed
Henry across the miles and fought under his banner willingly,
for he had seen a man who, although no warrior, was an able
administrator. And in the course of time, he had attracted
Henry's attention and eventually his confidence, and, as was
the way of things, he was rewarded for his loyalty and his
ability.

Greneforde was his reward.

Greneforde, hidden somewhere ahead in the mist, washed with
rain. Greneforde, which had survived the civil anarchy of
Stephen's reign as king, but in what state? William shook off
his gloom, blaming the murky weather for his sudden malaise,
and patted the large bag of seed he had carried with him.
During the years he had roamed the continent, he had been
quietly preparing for this day, the day when he would have
land of his own. Everywhere he had gone, from the hot sands of
Damascus to the mountains of Bavaria, he had searched for the
best seed, the best cloth, the best spice for his future home.
And now his home had a name: Greneforde.

"A beauty, according to gossip at court."

William turned to look at Father Godfrey, the priest who had
been with him for a handful of years and who would perform his
marriage ceremony. He wore a cotte of black wool that shed the
light rain and had hiked it up to his knees to sit his mule.
An unusual priest, one who had studied with Abelard, he
believed that the average man could only benefit from knowing
the Holy Scriptures, and to that end had spent many a dull
evening coaxing William and his retinue to memorize God's
sacred word.

"I thought men of God did not notice the beauty or lack of it
in a maid once they wore the cloth," William commented dryly.

Godfrey smiled slowly as he gazed down at his coarse woolen
habit. "We notice, but perhaps we do not give it the
importance a knight-in-arms would."

Ulrich, William's squire, moaned dramatically. "We have been
roaming the land for so many years in the company of men that
my own grandmother would look fair."

William grinned. Ulrich, all of ten and seven years and with
the gangly look of a half-weaned pup, imagined himself quite
irresistible to women. In fact, when he had fulfilled the
promise of his wide shoulders, he would most likely not need
to imagine. He was a fine-looking lad with his smiling eyes
and rich brown hair.

Godfrey, swaying upon his mule, said, "Then you see a woman
with gentle eyes, which is as you should."

Ulrich only rolled his gray-blue eyes up and sighed.

William smiled, amused by Ulrich, as he often was. His
training of the youth was thorough but not harsh; his own term
as squire had been under a stern and humorless man, and he
could not see that he had benefited from it. The physical
demands of knighthood were heavy enough without crushing the
spirit under an additional and unnecessary weight. But his
thoughts were not long on Ulrich. Again he searched the
shifting mist, eager for sight of Greneforde.

Godfrey rode quietly and watched William. His thoughts were of
Greneforde, that was plain, but there was more to Greneforde
than the great tower and the land, and if William did not
remember that, he did.

"She has been an orphan for many years," Godfrey remarked.

William jerked slightly in surprise and said absently, "=t'Tis
so."

"These have not been easy years for England," Godfrey pointed
out.

"Also true, but whatever is amiss will be made aright with my
coming," William answered confidently.

Rowland, William's comrade in arms, joined them, nudging
Ulrich to the back. His dark eyes looked first at William's
back, and then his gaze skipped to Father Godfrey. The priest
returned his look briefly, but long enough to see that they
were of a similar mind.

"Lady Cathryn will no doubt be cheered to know it," Rowland
said quietly.

William's only response was to grunt. He gave the distinct
impression that he had forgotten her entirely. It was more
than an impression; it was closer to fact. Cathryn was a small
spur on the body of his thoughts, and he would have been the
gladder for her plucking. A wife had not been his intent, for
what room was there in his thoughts for a wife when hunger for
land had taken the whole? Still, he was of an age to marry and
Greneforde could not be taken without her. So he would have
her. But his thoughts were of Greneforde.

"War is hard on the land; you have seen enough of warfare to
know that, William le Brouillard," Godfrey pointed out
casually. "And you have also seen how effectively a sword can
send a man to stand before his God. How think you an orphaned
maid has survived a score of years of civil war?"

He had not considered it, at least not overmuch, and he was
not thankful that Father Godfrey had pointed it out to him.
What mattered the maid? It was Greneforde, the land that came
with her, that consumed him. It was Greneforde that he had
striven for and Greneforde he had won. Yet Lady Cathryn
awaited him as well as Greneforde. It seemed that she could
not be forgotten, though he had tried.

Kendall, riding out from the center of the mist, happily
distracted him.

"You found Greneforde?" William asked when Kendall was within
shouting range.

"Yea, William, I found your holding."

"And how did you find her, this land that is mine?" he
pressed, instantly uneasy with the brevity of Kendall's
response.

Kendall looked down as he removed the mufflers from his hands.
"The land is rich, the great tower is well constructed and
sound, and the Lady Cathryn is preparing for your imminent
arrival."

Reminded of her again, William felt obliged to ask, "And how
did you find the Lady of Greneforde?"

"When I related that the king had pledged her in marriage, she
received the news with calm acceptance," Kendall carefully
recited. He had been rehearsing his exact wording for over an
hour and was pleased with the blurry truth of it.

"Did I not tell you that she would respond so?" William smiled
at Rowland.

Rowland only smiled and nodded his dark head in acquiescence.

"The lady will be ready when I arrive?" William asked
specifically, anxious to be past this possible point of
conflict.

"When I told her that she was to be wed to William le
Brouillard by order of Henry the Second, she said not a word
against the match and disappeared straightaway to begin
preparations," Kendall replied, telling the technical truth.

"She sounds a woman of remarkable self-possession," Godfrey
said softly.

"Yea," William agreed, "a valuable trait in a wife. As you
have pointed out," he continued, directing his conversation to
Godfrey, "there have been many years of war, and she is
clearly gladdened to know that she will soon have a husband
who can defend the land and give her children. 'Tis what all
women want," he finished authoritatively.

In response, Kendall fussed with the placement of his
mufflers, which seemed to be giving him unaccountable trouble.
Father Godfrey fingered the rosary beads hanging from his
belt, his expression deeply contemplative. It was all the
response William was going to get. Their manner puzzled him.
Why such buried discomfort over Kendall's news of her
readiness to receive him?

"Come, Rowland," William demanded, "you have been a husband.
Do not all women yearn for safety as men yearn for conflict?"

"That has been true of the women I have known," Rowland
answered simply.

Thus ended the discussion of Cathryn. William was about to
question Kendall more thoroughly about Greneforde when Kendall
volunteered, "We enter Greneforde land, William; in fact, you
were on your own land when I reached you. The great tower is
but a moment's worth of hard riding due west."

There was no time for Kendall to say more. William had urged
his mount into a run and was riding hard, due west. Rowland
followed apace, for even with Henry on the throne, the land
was rife with men who ignored the law.

It took considerably more than a moment to see the solid
outline of Greneforde's tower materializing through the uneven
rain, but William hardly noticed. The tower, licensed and
built during the reign of Henry I and therefore not destined
to be demolished with the myriad castles that had been built
during the years of anarchy, had originally been of motte and
bailey design. The great tower stood on a raised mound that
dropped off sharply to the river. The curtain wall was of
wood, but well constructed, and a tower had been added to the
southeast corner, overlooking the river. The curtain would
need to be rebuilt of stone, but it was not in derelict
condition and would withstand attack during the rebuilding
process. William was busily calculating the cost in time and
money of construction and concluded that it might be
accomplished in a year if he could find an able engineer. With
William approaching from the west as he was, the tower on the
wall looked impressive; the walls were crenelated, as was the
great tower, which rose to an impressive height of four
floors.

So involved was William with his first sight of Greneforde
that he did not immediately note that the land lay untended,
that the forest was encroaching on cleared land, that there
was no village. So pleased was he with his holding that when
he did take note of the air of neglect that Greneforde exuded,
he could not let it concern him overmuch. Greneforde had a
lord again and he would see to all her needs and happily.

William was home.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Holding
by Claudia Dain
Copyright © 2001 by Claudia Dain .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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