The Winter Mantle (42 page)

She clasped her hands, looked down at them, then up at him. 'Is it true that he was a wastrel and a drunkard?'

He considered her for so long that she began to grow afraid that he would confirm her mother's opinion, but as she was about to break the silence and say that it did not matter, she would rather keep her dreams intact, he spoke.

'Your father was a man with faults like any other,' he said. 'Not a saint, even if that is what folk are trying to make of him now. Yes, he could drink an alehouse dry, and yes, he would rather go out hunting than sit down with his steward and a heap of tally sticks, but there are worse failings than that. He had generosity and courage in abundance - and if I am here now, it is because of him.'

Matilda listened with rapt attention as he told her how Waltheof had saved his life in Fècamp. She could see the scene vividly in her mind and the image of her father snatching Simon to safety and wrestling a wild horse to a standstill, gave her a queasy feeling of pride and pleasure. 'He was always so strong,' she murmured, tears prickling her lids. 'I knew what my mother said of him wasn't true.'

Watching her, Simon wondered if by telling her the tale of Waltheof's prowess he had tipped the balance too far the other way. Then again, he suspected that she would be selectively deaf. For the moment she only wanted to hear the good and heroic things. And who could blame her?

There was a light tap on the door, heralding the return of his squire with Father Bertulf, Aubrey de Mar, and a wide-eyed Helisende.

Simon gestured to the maid. Attend your mistress,' he said.

Matilda had few preparations to make. Helisende helped her to remove her wimple and hair net. Her braids were unpinned and her hair combed down until it shimmered at her hips like a river of molten bronze shot through with fire.

'Are you sure you know what you are doing?' Helisende whispered. There was fear in her voice, but also an incorrigible glint of relish.

Matilda gave a tremulous laugh. 'Not in the least,' she whispered back, 'but I know that it is right.' She was still resonating from Simon's words about her father. She felt elated and dizzy.

'Your mother will not see it in the same light.'

Matilda's expression grew stubborn. 'That is my mother's choice,' she said, 'not mine.' As the words left her lips, a sense of power stirred in the pit of her belly. Her choice. Hers. Mayhap brought about by circumstance, but she had selected the path… and the manner of its treading.

With head high, she went to join Simon and the waiting chaplain.

The ring Simon had given her fitted Matilda's finger perfectly. It was one of his own, for he had small hands and hers were a feminine version of her father's, large and square. She examined it by the light of the night candle, for it was unlike any ring that she had seen before; set in the gold band was a circle of blue-grey stone that had been expertly worked to show two clasped right hands surrounded by a border of leaves.

'I believe it is Roman,' Simon said, looking over her shoulder and handing her a cup of wine. 'I bought it from a trader in Rouen who had it from a man who found a cache of coins and jewels buried in a field. There is not another like it… that's why I wanted it to be your marriage ring, for you also are a rarity.'

Matilda blushed at the compliment, unused to such flattery. Her mother was always telling her how large and clumsy she was.

She moved away from the heat of the candle flame. Once again, they were alone. The chaplain had officiated at the taking of their wedding vows. Simon's squire, his knight and Helisende had borne witness. Now all that remained to make the marriage indissoluble was the consummation.

For a second time Simon started to undress in front of her. She averted her glance, but he caught her arm and gently turned her around.

'No,' he said softly, 'do not look away. I want you to know my body as familiarly as I will know yours. Since we are united in marriage, it behoves us to be two halves of one whole from the beginning.'

Matilda swallowed. 'I do not know what to do,' she whispered. He had unfastened his belt and removed his tunic. Shirt, hose and braies remained.

Capturing a handful of her loose hair, he drew her towards him. 'It is an easy thing to learn,' he murmured.

She was almost as tall as he, and when he set his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body they were a match. Matilda caught her breath. She had never been this close to a man in her life before, except her father. No one until now had had the right or the audacity to touch her as Simon de Senlis was touching her. She could smell the soap of his recent bathing, and mingled with it the masculine tang of his skin. Her heart pounded at twice the speed of his.

'Be my squire,' he said softly, bringing his face close to hers, so that their lips were almost touching but not quite. 'And in return I will be your maid.' Taking her hand, he set it against the tied lacing of his shirt.

Matilda felt weak and hot. She was afraid, and at the same time she was intoxicated. With trembling fingers she unfastened the knot, and was fascinated to watch her own hand at the task, adorned by the new wedding ring. The shirt fell open exposing the wiry curl of hair at his throat and an expanse of summer-tanned skin.

'Now my turn,' he murmured and unpinned the round silver brooch securing the neck opening of her gown. With hands that were as steady as hers were trembling, he gently unplucked the drawstring of her chemise. Matilda shivered but raised her arms obediently so that he could draw her overgown over her head.

'Now you.' He placed her hands on his waist. For a moment Matilda was unsure what he meant, but then she realised and tugged his shirt out of his braies and off over his head. The scent of freshly washed linen and the warm smell of his body beguiled her senses. He was naked to the waist, and she was a mere breath from his flesh. A crucifix of garnets set in gold glittered on his chest, the jewels and metal flashing each time he inhaled.

He took her lightly by the hips and pulled her against him, angled his head and nuzzled beneath her ear. 'Now me,' he said huskily, and while one hand held her against him the other moved up her body and cupped her breast.

Matilda gasped at the sudden jolt of sensation that shot from nipple to groin. He was holding her firmly in the small of her back, keeping her steady, and since they were much of a height, she could feel a distaff-shaped solid heat pressing against the juncture of her thighs. He nipped and sucked at her throat. The amalgam of sensations both unnerved and excited her. It was like the occasional dreams from which she had woken panting and wet between the legs, dreams that she had confessed neither to her mother nor the priest. Without stopping what he was doing, he guided her to the fastenings that held his hose to his braies. Now you.'

Matilda fumbled, unsure without looking, and the back of her hand brushed against the crown of his erection. Simon hissed through his teeth and Matilda recoiled, torn between a worry that she had done wrong and her fear of the unknown. But he drew her back and placed her palm and fingers against the fabric-covered column of flesh.

'It is how all men are made,' he said, and there was a smile in his voice. 'Granted you may not have encountered one in quite this condition before, but there is nothing of which to be afraid. And your touch does not hurt… Indeed, it is a source of great pleasure.'

Matilda swallowed. It was half as long again as the span of her hand and had the feel and thickness of a drop spindle full of woven yarn, springy, yielding, but bone-hard at the core. How in God's name it was going to fit inside her she did not know. Yet, since all animals did this to mate, it was obviously possible. She dared to close her fingers around its length. He hissed again and thrust against her hand. And now he kissed her on the mouth.

His lips were warm, smooth, not in the least how she had imagined a man's lips to be. They took her breath and, rather like the touch of his hand on her breast, their movement sharpened the sensation in her loins. His tongue circled her lips and then thrust gently back and forth, echoing the motion of his hips. He slipped the loosened chemise from her shoulders and it slipped to the ground, leaving her clad only in her knee-length hose and a pair of linen braies like his own.

Matilda shivered at the cool air on her naked skin, and at the same time was scorched by the look in his eyes as he drew back to look at her. 'I am dazzled by your beauty,' he said hoarsely.

No one had ever told her that she was beautiful. Everyone considered Jude the pretty one with her daintier size and bones. 'Truly?' she whispered.

'Truly…" His hand followed his eyes in a slow caress down the length of her body and Matilda trembled beneath his touch. Her nipples rose in peaks of chill and excitement. He drew her to the bed and, laying her down upon it, gently removed her hose and completed the unfastening and removal of his own. Matilda felt the coolness and warmth of fur at her back, and realised that she was lying across the bearskin cloak. She dug her fingers into the gleaming pelt and wondered if he had placed it there deliberately.

Simon lay down beside her and all thought was sublimated by feeling. His hand moved on her thigh, circling upwards beneath the wide leg of her braies. At first his touch tickled and made Matilda want to recoil with a giggle, but that sort of sensitivity very swiftly gave way to another that made her gasp and arch. Higher still. Her eyes widened. She was not quite certain where his fingers were now, but she didn't want him to stop, and if that was being wanton she did not care.

When he drew her hand to the bulge in his braies, she was more eager to touch and stroke this time. He slipped his thigh between hers, nudged them apart and mounted her. Matilda gasped and gasped again as he moved upon her. He twisted his body and kissed and sucked her breasts, and the first cry was torn from her. She dug her fingers into the flesh of his arms. Her legs widened and she returned his rocking motion in a rhythm that came from instinct. His own breathing was ragged now, his heartbeat swift. Lifting himself from her, he was in haste to untie the drawstring of her braies and pull them off. Then his own, and for the first time Matilda was gifted with a view of a man in a full state of arousal.

'It is not as frightening as it looks, I promise you,' he said somewhat breathlessly.

'I am not afraid,' Matilda replied, half of her sneaking with false courage like a child determined not to be frightened in the dark, and half of her needing to know the full truth. With great daring she willed herself to touch him and found the feel not unpleasant. Smooth and warm., hard and yielding.

'I am,' Simon gave a congested laugh. 'If you continue to do that, I might gain great pleasure, but not the consummation we need to make this marriage binding.'

She looked at him curiously, not having the least idea what he meant.

He pushed her hand aside and moved over her. She felt the solid hot nudge of his flesh, felt him enter a fraction, then held her breath. There was so much of him; he was bound to hurt. But he went no further. She heard him swallow and through her own body felt the tremors of his restraint. He fondled and stroked her until she clutched at him. Instinctively she bore down and he eased further inside. And still he held off, continuing to pleasure and caress. The stimulation became unbearable. Matilda felt a swelling tightness in her loins. Suddenly she didn't care about anything but the feeling building within her pelvis. Whimpering, uttering little cries, she bore down on the pain of his invasion, because behind and above it there was a pleasure so huge that she would do anything to be a part of it.