by Sarah Hegger
William drained Roger’s cup and put it on the table. He motioned for the serving wench and her wine jug. Soon, the women would finish preparing his bride, and he would be called upon to swive his way into conjugal contentment.
Chapter 2
William opened the door to his wedding chamber. Frigid air greeted him in a rush. Stark as a crypt, and with only one taper providing a flicker of warmth in the miserable dark. Bare of adornment, with a few basic pieces of furniture the chamber lay free of the flowers and ribbons he would have expected for a wedding night. At the far end of the chamber, the bed hulked in shadow. A tiny mound in the center provided the only sign of life. “God’s bones.”
Alice stirred and then went still.
William didn’t fancy frostbite of the ballocks. The chill of the miserable hall was bad enough. “Why is there no fire?”
“It is not yet December,” she said.
Bugger that. William strode to the door and bellowed, “Cedric!” Getting the job done, and done well, deserved a scrap of comfort. “I’m bringing December a little early this year.”
Alice made a soft noise.
Cedric barreled through the door, his cheeks flushed. “Sir William.”
“Get some wood in here. Lots of wood.” Let them have some semblance of good cheer between them tonight. He marked no honey cakes to sweeten the bride’s disposition, no bridal broth to stiffen the groom’s resolve. “And wine.” Neither he nor his wife had eaten much at the feast. “And fill a platter. Do it fast, Cedric.”
“Aye, Sir William.” Cedric spun about, crashed his shoulder into the doorjamb, and careened into the corridor. Nice lad, Cedric, willing and eager, but not the brightest squire he’d trained.
Silence filled the chamber. “That was Cedric. My squire.” He chafed his palms together for warmth. “He means well, but you will have to overlook his clumsiness.”
Alice might have moved, but who could tell in this fitful light. She had barely glanced at him through their parsimonious wedding feast. Every time he had shifted closer to her, his lady had shifted away. Part of him had wanted to see how far down the bench she would edge to put distance between them. As his efforts would have driven her straight into the lap of that sour-faced old nun, he’d resisted the urge and set himself to putting her at ease. Their wedding night would require renewed effort.
“Indeed.” His voice rang. Had they no rugs to take the chill off the flags? Even the rats, it seemed, deserted Tarnwych for warmer welcome. “Cedric joined me recently. He is a cheerful sort, if you don’t mind the chatter too much.” He’d give his sword arm for a bit of Cedric’s meaningless drivel right now. “He is a good lad.”
He strode to the casement and peered into the night. On the far side of the lake, lights twinkled from the village. From the wisps of smoke ghosting on the night air, he guessed they had no December rule there. “Why December?”
She gave a small huff of breath. “It is cold in December.”
“It is cold now.” Sod the miserable North. Bad enough they played neighbor to those blasted Scots. Barren, gray, and cold. Very cold. He toyed with his breath, locking his jaw and sending white rings into the air. Half expecting a cracked tip, he crinkled his nose. He’d bedded more woman than he would admit to, unless Roger asked, and then he would even swell the number, because it irked his older brother no end. He could do this. Alice was a woman, much like any other, with all the parts he liked so well on others of her sex.
“Will you be much longer?” she said, startling him.
“Longer?”
“Aye.”
At least he would be spared his wife chatting a hole in his head. “Longer about what?”
She stayed silent for so long, he prepared to repeat his question.
“The bedding,” she whispered.
He spun from the window. Over the linens, two eyes glittered in the darkness. It might have been flattering if she hadn’t sounded so pained about the idea. A new experience to be sure, and his smooth address deserted him. “I thought we might get comfortable first.”
“I am comfortable.”
William strolled closer to the bed. She lay on her back, linens tucked beneath her chin. The rest of her, barely reaching half the length of the huge bed, stretched straight as a dead fish on the block. “You do not look comfortable.”
“I can assure you I am.” She glared at the canopy.
They had not made a love match, and a seasoned woman would not expect any professions of devotion from their arrangement. In time, they would rub together like a pair of comfortable boots. If not, a man need not hover about his wife for much longer than the begetting of an heir or two. But this? William pressed his lips together, biting back his laugh. She looked like a bedamned corpse lying there. A grumpy corpse, at that. Did she expect him to leap on her, rut around a bit, and dismount?
Her rigid face gleamed pale, so tense, he would wager if he plucked a hair she would vibrate. He settled a hip on the edge of the bed.
Her eyes narrowed, and she pressed her lips together.
A shy, timid virgin bride he could gentle out of her fear, slowly put her at ease, caress her until she opened her petals like a flower before the sun. He almost snorted at his bad verse. Even a reluctant bride could be gentled like a skittish yearling. What to do with an experienced, ill-tempered one, who looked as if she would rather chew nails than share his bed? Did she even have a smile buried deep inside her? He loved a challenge. “I do not, as a rule, sleep like I am about to be laid to rest. But if you recommend it for comfort, I will give it a try.”
She glanced at him and then frowned at the bed canopy.
“I wager you are warmer under there,” he said.
The door swung open and banged into the wall.
“I am back.” Cedric, laden with a large wooden board piled high with food, staggered into the room. Hair hung in his eyes. “And I brought help.”
A handful of serfs slunk in. Wood, more wood and—thank you, God—wine. William welcomed a little fortification.
The tallest serf stacked wood in the fireplace.
“I found some more tapers.” Balancing the heavy board with one hand, Cedric dug in his tunic front and produced a handful of tapers.
“Masterfully done, Cedric.” William gave him a nod of approval. The lad had shown the first glimmers of initiative.
Cedric beamed at him and righted the canting platter.
A serf struck a flint, lit some kindling, and thrust it beneath the wood. Orange flames licked at the wood and caught with a soft whoosh.
“And then there was light,” William said.
Alice gasped. Her frown deepened into a pinched expression of disapproval. Ah, a lady of faith, he presumed. Fitting, because the room resembled a monastic cell, and offered about as much welcome.
Cedric laid his platter down with only one loaf of bread dropped. He snatched it, wiped it on his tunic, and put it back on the platter. “Will that be all, Sir William?”
Leaning closer to his bride, William whispered out the side of his mouth, “Avoid the bread.”
“I am not hungry.” She shrunk further into the pillows as if afraid his breath might graze her skin. A lesser man would be feeling slighted about now. Unfortunately for Lady Alice, she had William of Anglesea in her chamber.
“But you must be.” William ushered the last of the serfs and Cedric out of the chamber. He poured them both a goblet of wine and carried it back. “You barely touched your dinner.”
She shook her head at his offer of a goblet. “I do not drink.”
“I noticed that at dinner, too.” Never one to miss an excellent wine, William sipped from his goblet and placed hers on the chest beside the bed. “Why is that?”
Her gaze flickered over him, light eyes, blue or green, he could not make out in the dark. “Drunkenness leads to lasciviousness.”
And thank the Lord for that. William hid his smile behind his goblet.<
br />
Still bound in the bed linen, she scrutinized him.
He wandered back to the food board. The cheese looked edible, and he carved a slice for himself. Verily, she didn’t look able to move. “Are you sure I cannot bring you aught?”
After a headshake, she went back to her study of the canopy.
William picked at the offerings on the tray. His lady did not drink, nor would she partake of any food, and she viewed him as an interloper in her chamber. To be fair, given that they had only met hours earlier, he could understand her reticence. For the most part, the ladies delighted in finding themselves in his company and took matters into their own hands. He drained his goblet, rejecting the idea of another. Any sort of victory here would require clear wits.
Bending, he unlaced his boots and slid them off. Next, he removed his embroidered wedding surcoat and laid it across a nearby clothes chest. Clad in his chemise and breeches, he padded to the bed. Thank God, the fire had taken the worst of the chill. Alice had left plenty of space on the other side of the bed, and he climbed up beside her.
A soft noise escaped her, and she went even more rigid.
Dear God, give him patience. Even his large conceit felt dented. He lay on his side, propping his head on his hand. She had a neat profile with a slight upward tilt at the end of her nose. Pale, thick lashes fluttered as she stared upwards. Not a pretty face, but her pleasant features bore a faerie-like charm. A gleaming, thick braid lay against the white pillow.
William took the braid between his thumb and forefinger. Glorious, rich copper and the weight of the braid in his hand told him of its length and thickness. The ends curled around the tie holding it confined. “Your hair is red.”
“Aye.” The delicate line of her jaw hardened.
“And very lovely, it would seem.”
“Red hair is the devil’s hair,” she said.
The vehemence of her statement startled him. William knew many women who would lay down their lives for such beauty. “I beg your pardon.”
She growled and, finally, looked at him. The anger on her face left him wrong footed. “Red hair is the mark of a foul temper. Foul temper is the playground of the devil.”
God’s Bones, who had he married? So meek and silent beside him at dinner, cold as death lying in wait for him in their bed, and now glaring at him as if he were a hound of hell. “I think it is beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes on a huff. “My lord, there is no need for pretty words betwixt us. I am neither beautiful nor charming, but I am your wife. As such, we will lie together for the purpose of begetting a child. Can we please get to that part?”
Chapter 3
Alice kept her stare level on Sir William sprawled beside her. He threw back his head and laughed loud enough it rang about the room, and her cheeks burned.
“Indeed.” He stilled, but his fine eyes still laughed at her.
Alice hadn’t meant to blurt it out in such a manner, but he unnerved her with his offers of food and wine and his conversation. In her experience, a wedding night went differently. The husband entered, disrobed, and climbed in beside you. After he clambered atop you, he did the necessary, and left. Her first husband had slept beside her, but he had not consummated the marriage. Her second groom had discovered her chastity to his delight, but stayed only long enough to see her rid of it. After that, he had visited her chamber a bare handful of times before the village whores had lured him away. Number three followed almost exactly in number two’s pattern. Strange, she never thought of them by name. Steven! Her last husband had been named Steven. John came before him, and the first, who could not bear to touch her, had been named William. Like this one. Two Williams, and both of them strange. This William lounged like a big cat beside her, head propped on his hand and amusement gleaming in his gaze.
“It is not that I do not appreciate your efforts to put me at my ease, but they are not necessary,” she said. He had made more of an effort than the others.
“I see.” He toyed with her hair, wrapping the curling ends around his forefinger. “Perhaps my efforts were for myself as well.”
“Oh.” She had not considered that. Men always seemed so much more comfortable in these situations. “Are they?”
“A little.” He smiled at her.
She wished to God he hadn’t. A beautiful man with his face in repose, but when he smiled—Lord above—it hit her as a small quiver in her belly and crept through her chest, snatching her breath.
“You see, my lady, having done this before, you have the advantage of experience.”
He could not mean…“You are a vir—?”
“Nay, my lady.” He tickled her brow with the ends of her hair. “Do not frown so fiercely. I do not claim chastity, merely new to the wedded state.”
Well, of course, a man such as he would not be pure. A great favorite with the ladies. She would do well to remember that. Once he had gotten her with child, she could turn a blind eye to his activities outside of their wedding chamber.
He wrapped her braid around one large fist. “I meant what I said about your hair. It is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She rather liked her hair, despite Sister’s insistence it be bound.
“Now.” Pursing his full lips, he laid her braid on her shoulder. “How best to carry on? Should we have some conversation?”
“It is not needed.” Alice dragged her gaze away from his mouth. She had never seen a man with a mouth so finely wrought. Top lip firm and carved, resting above the much fuller pillow of his bottom lip. “I desire a child above all else. I know how they come about.”
“And yet you have born no children?”
“Nay.” They whispered of her barrenness through Tarnwych. If this husband could not give her a child, it would mean the worst. A dull pain throbbed below her breast. “I have not been so fortunate.”
“Do not be sad, my lady.” With soft fingers, he stroked her cheek. “I am entirely at your disposal.”
Alice nearly laughed. His tone was kind, but his eyes invited her to share the joke. Best to get the unpleasantness over with. After, she would light a candle in the chapel every morning and evening, beg the blessed Madonna to grant her dearest wish. “You may proceed.”
He laughed, a full-throated, deep rumble that shook the bed beneath her.
Alice knew not what to make of him. Did he not think her in earnest? “I made no jest.”
“Nay, indeed.” He sobered. “But I think we should get these out of their bindings first.” He drew first one arm and then the other over the linens and lay them beside her. “In case you should feel the need to touch,” he said. “This will prove far more useful.”
“I have never felt the need before.”
“I am quickly forming that opinion, my Alice.” He winked at her and gave her another of his wondrous smiles. “Perhaps you could unclench your fists at the same time.” He straightened her fingers and spread them on the furs. Leaning over her, he took the goblet from the chest beside her and drank before offering it to her. “This is thirsty work.”
Strangely enough, she did feel like a drink. Once or twice, when Sister absented herself from dinner, she had tried wine and rather liked it. William certainly appeared to enjoy wine. “Perhaps just a small sip.”
She raised herself on her elbows.
Evading her hands, William touched the cup to her lips, and she sipped. The rich, fruity flavor delighted her palate. “It does not taste like the wine I have tasted in the past.”
“That is because I bought this with me from Anglesea. My father has some of the finest wines in the land. Have another sip. Let it rest on your tongue for a moment. See if you can taste the blackberries.”
One sip was enough of a departure for her. Two seemed positively wanton. “I think not.”
“Not even for the blackberries?” He lifted a dark brow.
Two sips wouldn’t lead the way to hell. “For the blackberries, then.”
/> He put the goblet to her lips.
Alice sipped, resting the wine on her tongue. A little woody perhaps, with a hint of fruit, and then blackberries. “I taste them.”
His smile of approval made her glow warm inside. He put the goblet on the chest beside her and moved back to his side of the bed. Through her gown, he pressed warm against her side. She felt delicate, tiny beside him. Wood-hued skin, with a warmed spice scent teased her from the opening of his chemise. She had never seen any of her husbands naked. They had lifted her gown without removing more garments than necessary. Would William’s skin feel as hers, or rougher perhaps?
“You still do not look comfortable.” Pulling at the bedding, he tucked it about her waist. “Now I can see more of you.”
He mocked her, he must. “Why would you wish to do that?”
He studied her face. “Green.” He smoothed her eyebrow with his forefinger. “I could not see before, but I see now that your eyes are green. Like a pea.”
“A pea?” Alice had heard worse descriptions, but still, a pea.
“Pea-green.” He bent closer to her. “Or summer grass.” He seemed to consider her eyes for a long moment. “Nay, I have it. Your eyes are as green as a stagnant pond.”
Alice snorted. The man needed to work on his poetry. “And yours are blue.”
“As blue as?” He raised a dark brow.
“Blue.” Best get this nonsense done with. His constant study of her features made her squirm. The huge fire he’d built had made the room uncomfortably warm.
“You, my Alice, have no romance in your soul.” He tapped the edge of her nose. “But you do have the dearest little nose. I would compare it to something fantastical, but you, I would wager, would prefer I call it a pig snout.”
“Nay, I would not.” She’d never been teased, and a tiny giggle escaped before she could control it.
He grinned as if she had handed him the moon. “That is much better. Now I shall move on to your cheeks.”
“Please, spare me.” The soft brush of his fingers left a warm tingle in their wake. “I do not think I can bear any more of your sweet whispers.”