The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (12 page)

Yet the kiss told another tale, a tale more to her liking.

He must feel some warmth toward her to have behaved so. Richard was ever and always proper in his deportment, serious in his outlook, and reverent to his duty.

Isabel looked across the hall to where Richard stood in conference with Jerome, again. The answer lay in her hand. Her husband was a man who stood by vows of duty with full honor. Well and good. Was it not his duty to bed his wife? Yea, it was. Isabel smiled, her heart tumbling within her ribs. He would do his duty by her. He would. And she would see him put aside all such unmanly behavior as squinting over accounts in the full light of a mild day.

Edmund was at her side, his duties since Lord Bernard's passing slack, mumbling again of Aelis. Isabel listened with half an ear, her mind on finding Father Langfrid.

"Can you not find more for her to busy herself with? She trails me like a hound after a hare, and I have no liking as the hare," Edmund complained.

"What offends you, Edmund? She finds you beguiling. Other men would not take offense at that," Isabel answered.

"I have done nothing to beguile her," he snapped. "And a man likes to find his own pursuits."

A man he called himself, and she could not fault him. At seventeen summers he was surely a man by any measure, yet he was such a boy when stood next to Richard. Had ever Richard been so young? In years, aye; in deportment, never.

"She will marry soon," she said in comfort and dismissal.

Ducking his head, Edmund veered off toward the smith. He had seen a flash of blue across the bailey; blue was Aelis's favored color.

Isabel slipped into the chapel, but all was still. Father Langfrid was not within. On her way out, she spied Elsbeth with a basket of loaves and cheese.

"Where are you to, Elsbeth? Have you seen Father Langfrid?"

"He is where I am bound," Elsbeth answered. "Giles the carpenter is a father today; I am bringing this small offering to ease the mother. Father Langfrid is there, offering his blessings and good cheer."

A fresh and potent flare of guilt shot upward like a bolt from Isabel's contrite heart. Elsbeth performed what was
her
function as Lady of Dornei. She had been too occupied with trying to arrange for Richard to tumble into her bed to mind her other duties.

"Wait upon me, Elsbeth. I will fetch a skin of wine for the household. This is a day of great joy."

Elsbeth waited while Isabel ran across the yard to the kitchen, shooed Edmund off to the tiltyard, and hurried to lead the way to the carpenter's abode. All it took was the slightest effort and a little time; in truth, it was not so great a task to see to the needs of her people.

By the time they arrived and greeted Giles, she had forgiven herself.

Father Langfrid, all smiles, was just ducking his head through the portal as they arrived.

"A fine lad with his father's bright look," Langfrid said to them all, Giles included. Giles smiled his thanks. "A blessing upon Dornei this day in the easy birth of so strong a son."

"'Twas not as easy as all that, Father," the carpenter's wife, Sifurtha, said from her bed in the corner.

"The next will be easier still, God willing," Langfrid said in good will.

"God willing," she echoed.

Giles, thinking of the bloody sheets that had been carried out by the midwife, said, "One for a start is enough."

With all the talk of childbirth, Isabel's problem came fresh upon her mind, driving all thoughts before it.

"Father, may we speak?"

"Certainly, Isabel."

He looked at the wine she carried. Isabel passed it to Elsbeth without a word, and Elsbeth carried all the gifts from the Lord and Lady of Dornei into the carpenter's abode. Her duty fulfilled, Isabel walked with the Father back up to the hall.

She could think of no words to say what needed to be said. How to tell her priest that she was eager for the consummation of her vows but her husband was not? She confessed all to him, it was true, but this was so strange a tale, and put Richard in so poor a light, that she did not know how to address such a topic.

Fortunately, Langfrid did.

"It was kind of Richard to spend the night in prayer for those in your combined families whom you have so recently lost. Most husbands of an hour would not be so generous."

Generous? That was a word for it, but it was not her word. Though Langfrid was right: Richard had lost both Hubert and Geoffrey in the same instant, with the same breath. And she had lost her betrothed; surely the world and the saints expected her to mourn for Hubert. Yet all her thoughts were of Richard. Perhaps she was as unnatural as Richard claimed.

But she was a wife, her duty here and now. And Richard's duty, too. They were lord and lady; they must consummate and produce an heir. All else was secondary.

"Yea, he is generous in his prayers," she said, the truth of it unpleasant to her ears. "Yet while we prayed, we did
not...
fulfill our union."

"Yea?" he asked expectantly.

They were almost to the hall, the scurry of people upon them. She did not want to discuss this in the open, for all ears to hear and eyes to watch.

"May we go into the chapel? My words would come more easily there."

"And more softly," he said, understanding her.

The dark of the chapel, lit by two precious pieces of glass, was soothing to her. They had been married by a priest, their vows taken in God's full sight and by His divine direction. Surely, He would want the marriage on right footing. 'Twas all she wanted as well, and if the sight of Richard's blue eyes and wide shoulders pleased her, was there sin in that? Nay, for she but desired the man given to her by God. 'Twas right and proper for her to desire her husband and lord.

"You know I am well disposed to this marriage," she began.

"Oh, yea, that I understand well," he said with a soft light in his eye. Did he laugh?

"But my concern is
that...
is that," she stammered, her eyes darting around the sacred hall, lighting everywhere but on Father Langfrid. "Is
that...
is the marriage legal without
the..."

"Consummation?"

"Yea," she breathed with a smile, relieved.

Langfrid shrugged and went to straighten a tilted candle. "The church does not require it in unusual circumstances."

"There are no unusual circumstances here," Isabel insisted, following him. "My husband and I are living under the same roof, and we are both of an age."

"That is true," he agreed. And said nothing more.

For a learned man, he was a trifle obtuse. But then, he had long lived a celibate life. Isabel, too close to the heart of her troubles not to strike, blurted out, "Then would you communicate that to Richard? As soon as possible and certainly before nightfall?"

She would have done it herself but she knew it would only irritate Richard, giving him more to charge her with in the sin of being "natural." Besides, such counsel would weigh more heavily coming from a priest.

"I will do what I can," Langfrid said, his cheeks rising rosy pink. He
was
laughing.

"You may laugh, Father," she said with a rueful grin, "but I know Richard. He requires this push toward the matrimonial bed."

"As you say, Isabel. He is your husband."

Isabel smiled fully and said, "Yea, he is."

She left then, back to the hall, where she had set herself the task of rousting Richard into the tiltyard and away from his parchments and prayers.

Langfrid, watching her go, thought that Isabel was one bride who would not faint for fear on the bridal bed. Of Richard, he was not so certain.

* * *

The passage from the outer bailey to the inner was small and narrow and dark; it was there that Adam waylaid her. Of a truth, she had seen more of Adam since a wife than she had ever seen him as a maid. And when had he ever been so forward?

"Isabel," he said, laying a hand upon her arm, halting her. "I have been searching for you since the hawking. You looked so unhappy, I thought to cheer you."

"I was not unhappy," she said, looking down at his hand, willing him to remove it. And she had not been unhappy; she had been angry.

"Nay?" he said, running his hand along her arm in a blatant caress. "Yet you did not have the look of a happy bride."

"You are mistaken," she said, removing his hand. "I am very happy to be a bride."

He smiled. Had Adam always smiled so often and for so little cause? She could hear the sounds of smith and laundress, the high voices of children, the low murmur of men; yet she remained alone with Adam in the shadows. A faint bell of alarm rang softly in her mind, but she did not know how to respond to its call. She had never felt such uneasiness in the company of a man.

He stroked a hand against her hair, and she jerked her head away. Truly, he was too bold, yet had she not encouraged him just hours ago, in her efforts to birth jealousy in Richard's heart? Of what possible use were his inappropriate attentions upon her if Richard was not there to witness it?

"I would make you happier," he said, pressing her against the stone walls, his body a sudden and unexpected weapon which he held against her.

"Adam!"

"I but give you what you want, Isabel. Do not protest," he said, pressing a kiss upon her mouth.

She slid her face away, more in irritation than panic. Did he not understand that such behavior did nothing to her purpose? He said that he gave her what she wanted, but she did not want any of him without Richard there to behold; and she had never expected nor wanted such a display as this! Perhaps she had misled him in that?

It galled her to think on Richard's words regarding her behavior while out hawking. He could have been right; perhaps she was too bold. Adam's current posturing certainly indicated it. Yet how to dissuade him without maiming his pride?

"I must protest," she said, her voice a muffle against his chest, her hands pressing against him to no avail. "You must stop this, Adam."

"I cannot find the will to stop. Your beauty, as dark and rich as a summer night, beckons me. I am powerless, caught within your grasp. Deal gently with me, fair Isabel."

It was she who was caught. One of his hands clasped hers while his mouth forced kisses upon her; they were wet and cold and excited within her only revulsion. It was when his other hand groped at her skirts that she abandoned all thoughts of salving his pride.

"Adam! Stop this!" she snarled, thrashing and pulling her hands from his. He only tightened his grip, smothered her with his mouth, and laid a heavy hand upon her breast. "You are a fool!" she managed to say against his mouth.

"For you," he returned, forcing his breath down her throat.

Her breast ached with his rough handling, and she could scarce draw breath with his weight pressing her back against the stone. His kiss was suffocating her.

And then it stopped.

Richard had come into the barbican, his size filling up the opening, closing off the light. Never had she seen him look more forbidding; never had she welcomed his presence more.

Adam released her and stepped back, his face the color of chalk.

"Whatever she may be, she is mine," Richard said, his voice tight and low.

Whatever she may be?
'Twas an insult and nothing less.

"Leave Dornei now," Richard said, looking only at Adam, "and you keep your life."

He looked very calm, little more agitated than when deep in prayer, yet his breath was heavy and loud.

Adam hesitated, his color returning. He had heard the insult to Isabel and was considering. Richard was so recently a monk, a man forbidden to take up
arms...

"Go, Adam," she said. "There is no place for you at Dornei. Go to Braccan."

She sent him to her dower lands because she felt some guilt in encouraging his flirtation. She had never intended that he should so misread her. At her words, Richard's face took on the grimness of God at His judgment seat. She realized in that moment that she should have kept silent, not coming to Adam's aid against his wrath, not when he was so clearly jealous.

He was jealous. It sent a thrill through her that erased all memory of Adam's mauling treatment. Mayhap Richard, seeing her in the arms of another man, would realize that he loved her and that their marriage was a gift from God. Surely a man so protective of his wife would want to claim her fully on the marriage bed.

When Adam waited yet another breath to decide his course, Isabel watched in amazement as Richard pulled his sword free, his movement fluid and swift. No monk would own such an act. In that moment, Adam was gone, back toward the outer bailey and the open road.

"He has not his mount," she said, unable to curb her tongue and still fighting her guilt. Adam was a knight, and a knight was nothing unhorsed.

"He has not my wife either," Richard said, re-sheathing his sword, the gleam of metal lost in the shadows. "I will send his squire with his equipment. Would you care to join the escort?"

"Naturally not!" she huffed, thrusting out her chest like a gamecock.

"Naturally?"

"Yea, naturally," she rejoined, refusing to back away from his taunt. "You do not think I welcomed his hands upon me?"

"Lady, you would be wise not to ask me what I think," he answered, his voice a near growl.

He could growl, but she had seen the glimmer of desire and possession in his eyes and he had drawn steel in defense of her. Mayhap she knew his thoughts better than he.

They were still alone, the darkness and the stone an embrace, all sound muted and muffled. She could not resist him. She could not resist the moment.

Drawing near him, she stood with her breasts on a level with his hand upon the sword hilt. He was a tall man, seeming more so in the close confines of the corridor, his shoulders blocking out the light that struggled to enter. She could feel his heat, the very pulse of his blood and the beating of his heart.

She was close enough to almost, almost touch.

"You are my husband. I would know all your thoughts," she said softly. Seductively.