“M’lord,” Edric said with a forced cheerfulness, “is it not enough for you to have such a lovely bride? Must you lay claim to the prettiest maiden at your wedding as well? Soon we shall be marrying you off, Thylda.”
“There is time yet, Uncle,” Thylda said.
“At least a few more years, I pray.” He kissed Saxan’s cheek and briefly hugged her, murmuring, “Be happy, child.”
“I will, Uncle,” she said quietly and frowned after him when he walked away only to have her attention quickly drawn by Lady Mary’s approach.
Lady Mary gave Saxan a forced smile. “At last I have a daughter.”
“And soon babes to spoil, if God wills it,” Botolf said, his voice soft as he sensed his mother’s unhappiness. In an attempt to allow her to cut short her time with their company, he added, “The hour grows late. Mayhap, when we return, you could begin the bedding ceremony. We will be only a few moments.”
“All right, Botolf.” She smiled at Saxan. “I will try to slip you away as quietly as possible.”
As soon as his mother was gone, Botolf turned a stem gaze on his new bride. “You promised not to meddle.”
“I did not meddle. I simply listened,” Saxan replied.
“You eavesdropped.”
She shrugged, then asked pertly, “Do you want to know what their trouble is?”
He laughed and shook his head. “All right, what is their trouble?”
“Cecil.”
“I do not understand. What has Cecil to do with all this?”
“Cecil is trying to kill you. I think your mother finally begins to believe that. To her, ’tis as if her sons battle each other. She cannot help but see Cecil as her own child.”
“I know all that, but how does it affect Edric and my mother?”
“If Cecil succeeds in murdering you,” continued Thylda, “then our uncle is affected.”
“Aye,” agreed Saxan, fighting the discomfort she felt over even considering the possibility of Botolf’s death. “My uncle’s vow to you will extend beyond your death unless it is from illness or nature or any death that carries no blame to it. Any hint of murder, and my kin are still bound to you by a vow—a vow of vengeance. So, if Cecil murders you, my uncle must join our kin in hunting him down and making him pay with his own blood.”
Botolf cursed. “And even though Cecil had my blood on his hands, my mother might find it difficult to accept that Edric now had Cecil’s blood on his hands.”
“Exactly. My poor uncle cannot break his vow, and ’tis that vow which now stands between him and your mother. She fears allowing them to follow their feelings, for whatever they may build between them will be destroyed if my uncle must take up his sword against Cecil. Lady Mary does not dare chance love for fear it could turn to ashes later.”
“There is nothing that can be done then.” Botolf sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair.
“Not unless someone can rid the world of Cecil, someone outside this small, highly concerned circle,” Thylda mused aloud.
“She is as mad as you are, Saxan,” Botolf muttered as he guessed what plot whirled in Thylda’s mind.
“I prefer to think of it as reasonable and courageous,” Saxan drawled, sending Botolf a look filled with impish laughter.
“Of course.” He firmly repressed a smile then looked at Thylda. “You will not do anything, young lady.”
“I will not?” Thylda asked sweetly.
“Nay, and I will now have your word on that.”
“Oh, all right.”
“She is as amiable as you are as well,” Botolf murmured to a giggling Saxan. “Come along, you two. We must return to the great hall.” He tugged them gently in that direction. “I can foresee no solution to this problem, but I will think on the matter.”
“Cecil must be stopped,” Thylda said. “And if his blood is to be spilled, Uncle Edric must not be the man to do it. That is the only solution I see.” She sighed. “There is no knowing how long that could take to come about. Uncle may be so old he is no longer interested.”
“If I know our uncle, he will still be interested when he is on his deathbed,” Saxan grumbled. “ ’Twill be the same with all the men in our clan.”
As she stepped into the great hall, Thylda crossly eyed her male relatives scattered about the huge room. “Lecherous dogs.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Botolf burst out laughing. The sisters’ identical looks of feminine disgust only amused him more. He was just calming down when their brother Udolf, a silver-haired, blue-eyed man of twenty, strolled over and draped an arm around the shoulders of each of his sisters.
Thylda leaned toward Botolf and whispered, “You think we jest. Heed this, m’lord.” She turned her attention back to her brother. “Udolf?”
“Aye, sweet Thylda, what does the babe wish?”
Standing straighter, Thylda said, “I am no longer a babe.”
His eyes brimming with laughter, Udolf carefully looked over her rounding form and drawled, “Aye, I can see that.”
She rolled her eyes, making Saxan giggle, and asked, “What are your favorite things on God’s good earth?”
“Ah, an easy question to answer.” Udolf hugged them. “Women.”
“There,” Thylda muttered, looking at Botolf. “You see how it is, m’lord?”
Before Botolf could make any reply, his mother approached them and said quietly, “ ’Tis a good time to slip away now. Most everyone watches the jongleurs.”
Udolf kissed Saxan on the cheek, then released his sisters. He lightly slapped Thylda’s backside as the three women began to walk away. Her angry glare only made him laugh.
“I fear it will not be long ere Thylda is wed as well,” he said to Botolf. “We shall then have no sisters left at Wolfshead Hall.”
“She is a fair lass with both wit and spirit,” Botolf agreed.
“It was kind of you to ask her to make a long visit, m’lord.”
“The pleasure will be all mine . You must call me Botolf, at least at such gatherings as this. You are, after all, my wife’s brother.”
“Then allow me, as a brother, to boast that you have chosen well.”
Botolf grinned. “I certainly think so.”
Abruptly, Udolf grew serious. “Saxan was raised to stand at her man’s side ...” He winked, “... even if he is being a total fool. Ah, here come your men and Hunter to attend to your bedding.”
Three knights and his brother-in-law ushered Botolf out the door of the great hall. The ribald remarks came thick and fast. It surprised Botolf to hear so much coarse revelry from Saxan’s own kinsmen. Just outside the door, he was caught hold of by a somber-faced Godric. Botolf’s attendants moved away to allow them the privacy the man so clearly wanted.
“You could choose no better mate than a Todd woman, Lord Botolf,” Godric said. “Do not err as I did and thus lose precious time with such a jewel. I know you little, but what I do know tells me that you may share some of the foolish notions I once held. Those notions nearly cost me my marriage. These Todd lasses are unusual.”
“How so?” Botolf asked with unfeigned interest.
“They are as hot of blood as their men yet would never willingly be faithless. They also think much like a man. That is something you should try to remember. It will lessen the times when your bride may confuse you.” He grimaced and shook his head. “’Tis not easy to put it into words.”
Botolf clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I thank you for trying and I believe I understand. I have seen the truth of it already.”
Even as Botolf turned to rejoin his companions and continue on to his chambers, Pitney approached. The youth had spent most of the celebration with his cousins. Botolf noticed that the boy was pale and feared he had dangerously worn himself out.
“Do you seek your bed now, Pitney?” he asked.
Pitney passed by the earl on the stairs and did little more than grunt, “Aye.”
“Pitney,” Hunter growled, angere
d at this snub of their liege lord.
Stopping, Pitney leaned against the cool, greystone wall. He closed his eyes with a sigh then suddenly laughed. Still chuckling, he opened his eyes, smiled at Botolf, and bowed slightly.
“Forgive me, m’lord,” Pitney said.
Perplexed by the boy’s strange mood, Botolf murmured, “It has been a long day. You are tired.”
“Aye, I am, m‘lord, but ’tis not that which makes me act the sullen churl. This day you laid claim to what has always been mine. You have taken away part of me. I am but jealous. It steals both my manners and my humor.”
“I do not think I could ever fully take her away from you,” Botolf reassured him.
“Nay,” Pitney replied, grinning impudently. “Howbeit, ’twill take a while for me to settle to this. Ah, good evening, sweet ladies,” he said as the two young daughters of one of Botolf’s vassals moved hesitantly past the men on the stairs.
Botolf and his companions watched in growing amusement as the girls inquired after Pitney’s health. In but a few moments the youth was being escorted up the stairs by the two young women, his arms around their waists. The murmured words and soft laughter made Botolf wonder just how soon Pitney would actually get his rest.
“That boy grows to be a danger,” Hunter jested. “Come, Botolf, or my sister will think that you have forgotten her.”
When Botolf entered his room, he found that Farold had not failed him. A hot bath and warmed drying-cloths were waiting for him. He wasted no time in shedding his clothes, aided by Sir Wesley and Sir Roger.
“It pleases me to see that Saxan will get all that is needed,” observed Hunter, lazily surveying Botolf’s naked form as he poured them all some wine. “I could be jealous myself as I think on what you shall be doing whilst I must lie alone.”
“I cannot see you lying alone,” said Botolf, then he grinned. “Why, the Lady Odella looked much interested.”
“Ah, her. Nay, I will not take that. Once was enough.”
Botolf was so shocked he faltered and nearly fell headlong into the bath. “You have bedded Lady Odella?” he asked as he eased his body into the steaming water.
“Aye, I believe it was a year ago. ’Twas at court. You have not enjoyed the lady’s favors? I had thought, when I saw her arrive that day, that you were her new lover. Ah, of course not,” Hunter continued when he saw Botolf scowl. “She was looking to pull a proposal from you and so played the chaste maid.”
“It would appear so. Er, just why was once enough?”
“Lady Odella is one of those women who must be forever flattered.”
“I have not noticed that that came hard to you Todds or to your kinsmen.”
“Nay. Some say we are born with the skill. Howbeit, ’tis always best when given freely. Lady Odella constantly begs a man for the words—often at times when he does not feel inclined toward clever, pretty phrases.” Hunter grinned when his companions laughed. “Aye, there is delight to be found there, but it requires more work than I wish to give.”
“She is also looking for a husband,” Botolf warned.
“She was then as well, but I need not fear that. Odella’s gaze is set higher than a baron with one small holding in the North.”
“That may have changed. She could easily discover that you are far from poor, as attested by Saxan’s handsome dowry.”
“That was mostly set aside by my mother. And, Botolf, do not forget that we carry the taint of merchants. Trade with the East and all of that.”
“There is money to be had there?” Sir Wesley asked, too often the victim of an empty purse.
Talk of trade occupied the men until Botolf stepped out of his tub. Their attention was quickly brought back to the night ahead of him. Botolf smiled at their jests, returning a few of his own. His heart was not fully in the teasing and levity, however.
Slowly all of his fears began to return. The jests about his well-endowed form and readiness only made him think on the delicacy of his bride. By the time he donned his robe and he and his companions moved toward Saxan’s bedchamber, all of his tension had returned and no amount of common sense and knowledge would banish it.
Saxan sighed with pleasure as she breathed deeply of the scented bath awaiting her in her bedchamber. “Ah, but this is lovely.”
Thylda laughed as she helped Saxan get out of her wedding finery. “ ’Tis to bathe in, not smell like some rich stew.”
“I shall smell very sweet. A scented bath, scented sheets, scented night rail. ’Tis almost too much scent.” She giggled as she sank into the hot water while Lady Mary hastily pinned up her hair, which had been freshly washed before the wedding.
“You are so tiny,” Lady Mary murmured, a hint of concern in her voice.
“My sister’s husbands are all large men, and my sisters are not much bigger than I. Rounder, aye, but still small.”
“I should not speak so. They were unwise words before a new bride.”
“M’lady, you worry more for me than I do for myself.” Saxan chided, then looked at her maid. “Jane? Could you scrub my back, please? Thank you kindly” She returned her attention to Lady Mary, who poured out a tankard of wine and set it by the bed. “I told you, I know all that is about to happen. So, too, do I know it could pain me some, but that pain does not last and it can be dimmed if the fever runs hot.”
“And does the fever run hot?” asked Lady Mary.
“I blush to admit it, but, aye, it runs very hot indeed. ‘Tis said that the first time for a woman may not be a great pleasure, but I do not fret o’er that. There will be a next time and all the times after that to gain what my wedded sisters sigh over.”
“Your sisters have spoken to you about what happens in their marriage beds?” Lady Mary could not hide her shocked surprise.
“Only my sister Tuesday was old enough to have the pleasure of our mother’s advice on such matters. The men in our clan feel no need to keep their women blind to what is nature’s way despite how well they guard our chastity. Howbeit, they speak of it from a man’s point of view. Tuesday, and then Denu, felt no harm could come of it if we knew a woman’s thoughts on it all. Cold duty can produce children, but it will not hold a man faithful to his marriage bed. Neither will it hold a woman. Our sisters wanted us to know that it is no sin to find pleasure in our marriage beds. True, many priests try to say it is. Not our Father Chesney, though.”
“Our Father Chesney is an unusual man.” Lady Mary held out a drying-cloth for Saxan.
“I have amused you?” Saxan stepped from the tub and began to dry herself.
“Nay. I was just thinking that my son will soon believe himself a very fortunate man.”
“ ’Tis my hope to make him think so,” Saxan quipped, her smile sweetly lecherous, and she laughed softly when Lady Mary’s eyes widened.
Saxan’s humor dimmed and she blushed as the woman helped her into her night rail. It was scandalously thin, tied at the shoulders and down the front, blatantly designed to be easily removed by her new husband. That did not trouble her, but she wished it covered and hid more of her body. When she let her hair down, it provided her with a greater modesty and she relaxed a little only to tense again when a knock resounded at her door. A moment later, Botolf was led in by her brother Hunter, Roger, Wesley, and Talbot.
Even as she flushed beneath the stares of Botolf’s friends, Saxan was all too aware that her husband wore nothing beneath his robe. She wished everyone gone so that when he shed that robe, she could freely look her fill. As she slipped beneath the covers and Thylda carefully fluffed the pillows behind her back, Saxan confessed to herself that she wished Jane and Thylda in particular would go away. She did not want them to have even the most fleeting glimpse of Botolf”s form, the glimpse they got an instant later when Botolf dropped his robe and climbed into bed at her side. That hint of possessiveness in herself surprised Saxan.
“You have yourself a man and a half there,” whispered Thylda as she handed Saxan a tankard of wine.
>
Hunter appeared suddenly, nudging Thylda aside. He looked too serious for Saxan’s liking. It was far too late to stop the marriage now, she thought with a mixture of relief and irritation. She then admitted to herself that she did not want Hunter to even try.
But he grinned as he bent to kiss her cheek and whispered, “Go easy on the poor man, Saxan.”
She burst out laughing and playfully tugged at his hair. “Wretch.”
“Be happy, little one.”
“I intend to be.”
Nine
Saxan could not tear her eyes from the tankard of wine she held so tightly now that she and Botolf were finally alone. She was not afraid, but felt nearly choked with shyness. It was a feeling she heartily prayed would prove fleeting.
Botolf leaned forward to peer at her face, its features partially obscured by her thick hair. He was glad that the bedding ceremony was over. Even though Roger, Wesley, and Talbot were as close to him as brothers, he had resented the view they had had of Saxan. Their obvious appreciation of that sight had only annoyed him more.
“Saxan?” He spoke softly. “Do not be afraid of me.”
“I am not afraid,” she said.
“Nay?” He smiled when she shook her head, but still refused to look directly at him. “Come, touch your tankard to mine, and we will drink to our marriage.”
The clink of their tankards echoed in the room. Saxan gulped her wine hoping it would bring back her lost courage. The way Botolf ran his fingers through her hair and sidled closer until the lengths of their bodies brushed together slowly burned away her shyness and brought the warmth back to her blood. When he set his tankard on the table by the bed, she tossed her empty tankard aside and fell into his arms.
He laughed as he caught her up against him. “Nay, I guess you are not afraid. Why would you not look at me then?” he asked as he began to loosen the ties of her night rail.
Only For You Page 14