Anita Mills (23 page)

“Lady,” Helewise warned, “ ’tis not meet …”

But neither of them heeded her, for the maid nodded. “There was nae pleasure in lying with him,” she answered darkly. “She said ’twas like breeding with the devil.”

“No doubt ’twas her size,” Elizabeth murmured, sitting for Helewise to begin her hair.

The girl shrugged. “Mayhap, but he’s nae lain with any of us to know of it.” Her task done, she bobbed a hasty obeisance, and hurried from the room.

“My lady, you must not—” Helewise began.

Her nerves strained already to the breaking point, Elizabeth turned on the woman furiously. “Do you think I am afraid? It matters not what he is now, for the wedding is done.”

“Is she ready?”

The hairs prickled on Elizabeth’s neck at the sound of his voice, and her throat was suddenly too tight for speech. As he moved into the room it was Helewise who answered, “I have but to plait her hair.”

“Nay, let her wear it down this once,” he told her curtly. “She can cover it with a veil.”

Elizabeth sat woodenly while he crossed the floor to stand behind her. And, as his hands lifted her heavy hair, she could not suppress the shiver that traveled down her spine. It was as though there was none in the room but he.

“If you would know of her, I’d have you ask me, Elizabeth. They knew naught beyond what she said to them.”

“It does not matter, my lord,” she lied. “Ere I prayed for you to die, I’d do the deed myself.”

His fingers lingered caressingly on her neck, touching her skin lightly, tracing the bones of her shoulder. “ ’Tis why I’d have you,” he murmured, bending to brush his lips across the place he bared. “This time, ’tis a marriage of likes.” She closed her eyes to hide her response to his touch, afraid if he could see what he did to her, he’d gloat. Abruptly, he drew away, and reached for her hand.

“If we do not hurry, they will already have fallen upon the food.” Then, as his fingers possessed hers, he chided, “Every time I feel your hand, ‘tis colder than the last.”

“ ’Tis the northern clime,” she retorted, rising.

Despite the fact that the feast lasted some six hours, Elizabeth, seated in the great, high-backed chair, ate little. One place lower, Giles watched the traveling troupe he’d hired as they performed their human pyramids whilst they juggled brightly colored balls. If her position at his table rankled he gave no sign, but she was sure others remarked it. Indeed, Willie had had to be silenced when she took her seat, and there had been a low murmur of disbelief. But she’d held her head high, as befitted Rivaux’s daughter, and brazened it through.

From time to time she allowed her gaze to rest on her new husband, covertly studying him whilst he sat there, his fingers drumming out the rhythm of the cymbals and castanets. The orange glow from the pitch torches cast strange shadows on his face, giving him an eerie aspect, and the serving maid’s words came to mind.
She said ’twas like breeding with the devil.
And as she saw the firelight reflected in his black eyes, she could almost believe it. And then she thought of her father and her brother. They were fierce, proud men also, and certainly neither her mother nor Gilly had minded. Mayhap Lady Aveline had been much like Cicely of Lincoln, and she’d never gotten over her fear of a fiery husband, she considered judiciously. Indeed, that fear had sent Cicely to the convent ere she could be forced to take Richard.

His fingers stopped drumming and he reached to cover hers where they rested upon the table. And even though his touch was light, she was once again acutely aware of the strength of him. He leaned back, watching her now, and she felt the flush of the wine she’d drunk.

“I think,” he murmured lazily, “ ’tis overtime to retire. I’d not have your hands get any colder.”

“Aye, I’ll warrant ‘tis so,” she answered, trying to match his tone. Then, betraying her misgiving, she added, “My lord, I’d have Helewise ready me for bed.”

“Nay, there is no—” He stopped, seeing the hesitation in her eyes. “Aye.”

He rose then, towering over her, and lifted his cup of mead. And as he was noted a hush moved over the assembled baronage and household, until only a lone viol played. The musician looked around in embarrassment and it too ceased. In full view of all Giles turned to her, proclaiming loudly enough for many to hear. “I give you Rivaux’s daughter and ask you to honor her as Dunashie’s lady! May we provide sons and daughters of our blood!” His eyes on hers, he added for her ears alone, “Aye, and may we honor each other, Elizabeth.” Raising the cup to his lips, he drank of it. Cheers mingled with ribald toasts as she stood to take the silver goblet. Very carefully she turned it, placing her lips where his had been, and she too sipped of the sweet liquid.

He nodded to Willie at the table below, and the big man rose to approach her, bowing. “My lady.”

“Willie will see you through the hall lest any think to touch Rivaux’s daughter,” Giles told here. “I give you the length of Roland’s song ere I come.”

“ ‘tis not long.”

“How long would you need to take off your clothes and get into bed?” he countered.

“I’d have my hair braided that it does not tangle.”

“As there are several hundred verses, you should have time enough.”

“Aye.”

His free hand brushed her baudekin veil back from her face, and his smile turned his mouth down at one corner. “Alas, but your eagerness overwhelms me, Elizabeth,” he murmured sardonically. “Console yourself that this time your bedding does not have to be witnessed.”

A lone troubadour carried his bench to the center of the hall and bowed. Using the low seat as a footstool, he struck several notes on his lute and waited for the attention of his audience. Serving boys moved about, removing pitch torches from their rings, leaving only the area about the singer lit. And under the cover of darkness Elizabeth followed Willie from the hall.

The big man took one of the torches to light her way up the narrow, winding stone stairs to his lord’s chamber, and walking slowly before her, said nothing. It was not until they’d reached the top of the steps that she stopped him.

“You mislike me, do you not?”

One of his eyebrows lifted slightly as he turned back to her. “ ’Tis nae me as weds ye, Lady Elizabeth.”

“I’ll brook no insolence from any, Willie.”

“My only wish for ye is that ye’ll give Dunashie an heir of his blood—aye, ’tis all any here ask.”

“ ’Tis in the hands of God.”

He started down the stairs past her, then stopped before he reached the landing with the cutout arrow slit. “But if ye’d nae shame him before us, there’s those amongst us as would welcome ye better, my lady. Aye, ’tis nae right for a woman to sit above her husband.”

“ ’Tis my right,” she snapped. “I am—”

“Aye,” he cut her off, “ye be born of the blood of Rivaux, and there’s none here as hasna heard of Count Guy, but our lord is Giles of Moray. But I pray for ye—aye, I pray for the both of ye.”

Helewise was waiting alone for her. “I’d not have you hear more of their foolish gossip,” she said, stretching to lift the filmy veil from Elizabeth’s head. “And ’tis as well you do not.”

“I wanted to know of her.”

“Aye.” The other woman sighed as she folded the baudekin over her arm. “But what passed between Lord Giles and this Aveline is naught anymore. What ought to matter is his manner to you.”

“Do you think me a fool for wedding him?”

“Nay. But we’ve not the time to speak of what’s done, my lady.” She waited for Elizabeth to lean down so she could pull the green velvet over her head. “I’d lay another log on the fire and brush your hair ere he is come.”

“They sing Roland.”

“I’d still have you abed as is meet.”

His undertunic bagged beneath her arms and hung to her knees. When Helewise removed it also, Elizabeth tried not to think of him. Moving closer to the warmth, she sank naked upon a low bench, staring into the licking flames and waiting for the woman to brush her hair. And as the boar bristles stroked the length of the glossy black mane, lifting it until it crackled, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to that night nearly eight years before.

She’d been but a month short of her fifteenth birthday—her father’d wanted to wait until she’d reached sixteen, but ’twas argued that she was big enough to wed. As she remembered it, Ivo’s father had been impatient of the delay. And she, foolish child that she was, had been blinded by Ivo of Eury’s beauty so much that she’d begged to go to him. That wedding had been a glorious affair, with archbishop and even King Henry in attendance. And then there had been the bedding. Sweet Mary, but if she’d known how it would be, she’d have sooner taken the veil like Cicely—and with far more reason. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to calm her churning stomach. Nay, she’d not remember that.

Giles of Moray watched from the doorway hungrily, scarce able to believe Elizabeth of Rivaux now belonged to him, that she’d come to him of her own will. In all his life he’d never possessed anything half so beautiful, not even Aveline, for where the girl had been weak and fragile the woman was truly magnificent. And the unease he’d felt sitting below her faded when he looked on her. He moved silently into the room and motioned for Helewise to leave.

The brushing had stopped, but then it began anew, this time more awkwardly. Elizabeth turned to complain to Helewise—and she faced him. It was as though her blood turned to ice. Her heart pounded with the force of moving it.

“I decided I’d heard the story too many times,” he murmured, bending low over her. “Sweet Jesu, but ’tis like silk beneath my fingers.”

“You startled me, my lord,” she muttered, pulling away.

His eyes took in her pale skin where it gleamed beneath her hair, and his mouth went dry with his desire. “I’d have you stand, Elizabeth—I’d see you.” His words were somewhere between a whisper and a croak.

There was no delaying, there was no more time to wait. Steeling herself, she rose and turned to face him, with naught but the bench between. And as his eyes devoured her she cried out desperately, “Have me then, and be done! I cannot stand this game between us!”

As beautiful as she was, he was again unprepared for the effect she’d have on him. He stared, every fiber of his being alive to what he saw. It was as though a master sculptor had carved her body, then blushed it with softest rose. Her ebony hair spread over her shoulders like a silk mantle, falling down her back well past her waist. She was high-breasted, and her waist was narrow above the smooth, flat plain of a belly that dipped to black thatch below. And behind her, the firelight haloed her body, making it glow against the dimness of the room.

She held her head up, watching him warily, her whole body held taut to still its trembling. At first he thought she was cold, then he recognized the fear. And for an awful moment he could see Aveline in those green eyes. But the woman before him did not weep or cower.

“Art afraid of me, Elizabeth?” he asked softly, moving closer.

“Nay.” Then perceiving he meant to touch her now, she whispered, “Aye.”

“ ’Tis not that you do not know what I am about,” he murmured, enveloping her stiff, cold body in his arms. “You cannot be virgin still.”

“Nay. I bled on my marriage bed.”

Her voice was so low that had he not held her, he’d not have heard it. “Nay, Elizabeth,” he whispered against her ear, “you’ve naught to fear of me. I do not mean to hurt you.”

His breath, soft as it was, sent a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes and waited, telling herself ’twould soon be done. And she would that he hurried lest she lose courage.

He bent his head to kiss her cold, unresponsive lips, playing on them gently, then more insistently. And he could feel the shudder go through her. The heat left his body, replaced by anger.

“You said you would come willing to me, Elizabeth—you said you would lie willing for me—and afore God you shall! I’d not be lied to again!” Half pushing, half carrying her, he parted the curtains and thrust her upon the bed, then stood over her, panting. “I’d not be cheated again, Elizabeth of Rivaux!”

Her green eyes were wide open now, the pupils dilated, making them seem even stranger. And her blood had risen to flush her face. “Have me then!” she shouted. “I do not deny you!”

“You come not willing!” He pulled his overtunic off and flung it across the room, narrowly missing the fire. “Jesu! Do you think a man wants a woman who looks at him like that? Do you think a man can be satisfied with stone?”

And it was as though she faced Ivo, hearing again that she disgusted him. Angry tears of humiliation stung her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks, making her furious with herself and with him. “Mayhap I’d not lie with the devil!”

For a moment the look in his eyes was almost murderous, then very slowly he pulled off his undertunic, dropping it at his feet, and reached to untie his chausses. “You took me of your own free will, Elizabeth, and now you will give me what you promised. Devil or no, I am your lawful husband from this day.”

She had to calm her fear of him, and she knew it. Holding the sheet to her chin she sat still, watching him, telling herself that he was not Ivo, that he was a man ready to do his duty to her. Even his body was different—where Ivo’s had been boyish, this man’s was powerful. His shoulders and arms bore testimony to his strength, and the scars he’d taken in battle were visible in the faint light. Her eyes traveled over hips that were lean, yet corded with sinew, to thighs and calves that bespoke vigor also.

Her eyes were huge against her white face when he turned again to her. And he was as angered with himself as with her, for he’d been a fool again. Rolling into the rope-hung bed, he pulled her roughly into his arms, forcing her into the mattress. His mouth came down hard on hers as his body pinned her beneath him.

She was suffocating, she was drowning as his tongue forced its way into her mouth, and because there was no gentleness, she knew how it was going to be between them. She willed herself not to fight, hoping ‘twould not hurt so much. She went slack beneath him, telling herself that if she lay still ‘twould soon be over.