The priest’s eyes were wider than normal, and his lips were pursed. No doubt he had been threatened with some heinous consequence if he did not agree to perform the marriage rites.
Margaretha hung back while her mother walked forward to stand beside Claybrook in front of the priest. Soon, her family members were ushered in to stand as witnesses to the marriage. A glance over her shoulder showed several guards, all with swords drawn, standing by the door of the chapel.
There was another entrance, but it was on the second floor. With an upward glance, she saw a guard standing at the top of the winding stairs, and another at the bottom. Claybrook was leaving no opportunity for escape.
Margaretha felt the weight of the iron cross inside her sleeve. It gave her a measure of comfort, even though she could never hope to use it at the moment, with so many guards around them.
The priest began speaking the rites, unaware that the “bride” before him was Lady Rose and not Margaretha. He spoke slowly, but he soon came to the part where the bride and groom would have to give their consent to the marriage. Just before it was time for the bride to consent, Claybrook suddenly took hold of her veil and ripped it off, revealing the face of Lady Rose.
Claybrook turned and his eyes immediately focused on Margaretha, her face covered with the veil that was supposed to be her mother’s. “Ah! I knew you would attempt some trickery.” His lip curled in a snarl, showing his teeth like some sort of animal, and he pointed at Margaretha. “Bring her here.”
The guards grabbed her elbows and pushed her forward. Claybrook threw back her black veil. “A foolish ruse. You cannot delay the wedding any longer.” He grasped her upper arm so tightly, his fingers bit into her flesh. But Margaretha was too relieved that his hand had just missed the cross in her sleeve to complain.
Claybrook turned to the priest. “Get on with it.”
The priest repeated the vows. When he asked her if she would vow to honor and obey Claybrook as her husband, Margaretha replied loudly in German, so everyone in the chapel could hear, “I will not.”
Claybrook growled and said, “She agrees.” Claybrook’s voice was emphatic. “Now go on.”
Margaretha waited to see what the priest would do. Would he stop the ceremony, defying Claybrook, since Church law stated that no one could be married against their will? Or would he continue with the wedding vows to avoid whatever Claybrook had threatened him with?
The priest only spared Margaretha one quick glance before continuing with the ceremony.
She could have protested further, could have fought Claybrook and run if she was able to break loose from his painful grip, but what good would that do? The guards would only drag her back. They might even hurt her mother just to force her to comply. For now, she would bide her time.
The priest’s voice was like the drone of a hive full of bees, dooming her to marry him, whether she consented or not. There was no way out.
O God, save me, save me!
She must keep her wits about her, even though she was trapped and could see no way of escape. How could she ever get past so many guards?
This pattern of thinking was not helping. She must keep looking for an opportunity. She must not allow herself to think that all was lost. God was her peace. Hadn’t she learned that on the long journey she had taken with Colin? By focusing on God’s power and goodness, she would not panic and her mind would remain clear so she could think of a plan. Instead of sending up prayers full of anxiety, she would trust that God would make a way.
When the priest pronounced them “man and wife,” Claybrook took her hand, squeezed her fingers in a vice-like grip, and nodded to the witnesses. “Now we shall eat, drink, and be merry as you honor the marriage between the House of Fortescue and the House of Gerstenberg.”
Each of Margaretha’s family members alternately looked horrified, disgusted, or angry, but Claybrook didn’t seem to notice. He dragged Margaretha forward.
The marriage can still be annulled. She comforted herself with those words, but it was little comfort if she were forced to go back with him to his bedchamber. She simply had to escape.
She numbly followed as he paraded her in front of his men. One of them looked at Margaretha with a lewd sneer. She glared back at him, then faced forward, refusing to look at anyone else.
Throughout the feast, Margaretha calculated various escape routes. When she asked to go to the garderobe, he sent three guards with her and refused her request to allow her mother to accompany her. The guards never turned their back on her, and she wasn’t desperate enough to take on three of them — yet.
She forced herself to eat a little bread and meat, to make sure she kept up her strength. But soon, her nervous stomach would not accept any more food.