by Sarah Hegger
* * * *
William’s soft snore filled the gaps in Father Mark’s mass.
Sister’s head snapped in William’s direction. Her eyes narrowed to mere slits.
Alice crinkled her face into a silent apology and nudged William.
He came awake with a jerk.
Alice dared not glance his way. The uncomfortable desire to giggle grew inside her and she jammed her nails into her palms. Still, silent laughter quivered in her belly and rose like bubbles in her chest. She was going straight to hell. Giggling in church, indeed.
Sister’s expression dispelled the laughter. Sitting rigid, her set face fixed on Father Mark, Sister worked her rosary beads through her fingers in a blur. Would it be wrong for Alice to pray Father Mark got through mass quickly? For certain it would, and Father Mark loved his singing voice too much to cut mass short. She should spend this time in careful contemplation of her sins, ready to make her confession. Did finding your husband beautiful constitute a sin? If aye, she risked eternal damnation.
William slumped against her shoulder in a hard, hot press of man. She gave him another nudge, but he murmured and his head lolled forward. He could not be comfortable falling asleep sitting on the hard benches. But William slept like a babe. During mass. With Sister, no doubt, praying with all her might, but whether she prayed for William’s deliverance, or cursed his sacrilege, Alice remained uncertain.
Thankfully, he responded as Alice prodded him into kneeling and standing when required. The effort it took had her nerves jangling and she welcomed Father Mark singing out his final blessing and sending them all out into the world again.
“Your pardon, Alice.” William strolled by her side out of the chapel. “It seems my nights have caught up with me.” He must be exhausted, and Alice sympathized. Still, worship was a sacred time for reverent awe before their Creator.
“Alice.” Sister hailed them outside the chapel.
Did William groan? His face remained mask smooth. Dark shadows beneath his eyes spoke of his fatigue, but he stood as tall and proud as ever. “I will see you in our chamber,” he said, and with a nod good night for Sister, he left.
“Aye, Sister.” Alice braced herself.
Sister motioned her into a small well at the base of the stairs. The same stairs William climbed to their bedchamber, his boots scuffing the stone as he went.
“Alice, I know not what to say.” Only Sister did know what to say, and Alice knew she would hear it. “That man.” She wrapped her rosary about her fist. “That man has no respect for the Lord.”
“He was tired, Sister. He rode all day and then remained working with the men through last night and today.”
“Did Christ our Savior rest when Satan tempted him in the desert? For forty days and nights, he remained vigilant.”
Alice bit back her swift retort. Telling Sister Sir Arthur of Anglesea had sired William and not God would bring more condemnation down on her head. William climbed into bed as she stood here. For certain he would be asleep by the time she freed herself from Sister. “Nay, Sister, he did not.”
“He did not.” Sister unwrapped the beads and smoothed them against her skirts. “He comes from an un-Godly family, Alice. Never let his pretty face make you forget that.”
Lady Mary had seemed such a nice lady. Alice would not call her un-Godly. Aye, but William did have a pretty face, and a glorious form to go with it.
“Are you paying heed to my words, Alice?”
“Aye, Sister.”
“You must be on your guard, child. The devil comes in many forms, some of them fair enough to tempt the most pious, and you are not that, are you, Alice?”
Alice attempted to formulate her reply. In what way had she erred enough to earn such criticism? Except, some of her thoughts the past few days would have shocked Sister, for certain. “I do not think I have been sinful.”
“Alice.” Sister shook her head, and smoothed the ends of Alice’s wimple over her shoulders. “Did I not see you ride into this bailey with your hair unbound like a wanton? A chaste woman does not display herself for the lusts of men.”
Lust seemed a trifle strong for some unbound hair. “My wimple came off as we rode and was trampled in the mud.”
Sister clicked her tongue. “A bemuddied wimple would not have prevented a woman of virtue from covering her head.”
I am not a nun! The words rose hot and fierce onto her tongue. Alice clenched her jaw and stopped them from bursting out. Lady Faye wore her hair unbound, as did Lady Beatrice. However, Lady Faye had married a man who had turned his back on the church. And Beatrice had married a base-born bastard. She had always abided by Sister’s teachings in the past. What had her asking all these questions now, and doubting Sister’s wisdom?
“I do not blame you, child.” Sister tucked her hands beneath her scapula. “I knew how it would go when I heard of your father’s marriage plans for you. You obeyed your father, as is right. And you will always be subject to your husband, but that does not mean you must not guard yourself from the lures of Satan.”
Very well for Sister to say thus, but the lures of Satan did not sleep in her bed, filling the air with the scent of cloves and warm skin, wrapping strong arms about her and holding her against a hard, male chest. There she went again. Perhaps Sister spoke true, and these unruly thoughts marked the first step on the path to damnation. Even as she thought it, part of her rejected the idea. William was not evil. She would not call him chaste or reverent but he treated with kindness those who served him. All of his actions in the past days aimed at improving life for Tarnwych folk. Best of all, he treated her as if she had value to him. He made her laugh, and it seemed a long time since she had laughed so much or so hard.
“See that you get yourself with child as soon as you can,” Sister said. “Before the corrupting influence of evil can find its way into your heart and eat away at your faith.”
“Best I return to my bedchamber then,” Alice said.
Sister blinked at her.
“In order to…get myself with child.”
Sister’s face went wine-red, her eyes bulging out of her head. “Indeed.”
“I will see you on the morrow, Sister. God be with you.”
“And you.” Color still stained Sister’s cheeks as she gave a jerky nod.
Alice took the stairs a little faster. Her conscience prickled that Sister’s discomfort amused her.
Chapter 9
Alice attended prayers alone the next night. Just as she had sat alone at dinner. She hadn’t spoken with William since he’d dragged his tired self up the stairs to bed and away from Sister.
He’d been asleep when she arrived in their bedchamber the night before, flat on his back, snoring softly. Alice had stood above him and watched him sleep. It still seemed strange that this beautiful man now occupied her bed.
The following morning, he had risen without waking her and spent the remainder of the day working with the men. When she had peeked out the casement around midday, William and the men cleared the old, abandoned beast pens beside the barracks. A serving wench told her they planned a practice yard. Alice had stopped a moment and admired the way the wind ruffled William’s dark hair and played across the clean planes of his face. Thus far, her spying skills improved. Those keep trulls with eyes stuck on her husband best take note.
Opening her bedchamber door, she bid goodnight to Sister and entered.
William sat on the end of the bed, a huge grin on his face. “Good evening, my lady.”
“Good evening.” Alice stopped and stared at the large wooden chest open at William’s feet. “We missed you at dinner. And at prayers.”
Grin widening, he swept his arms over the chest. “I have a good reason for my absence.”
Brilliant scarlet silk gleamed in the firelight, thanks to the large fire now always present in her bedchamber. Curiosity overcame politeness, and Alice stepped closer to the chest. “What is it?”
“This?” William shrugged. “Why, this is yours.”
“Mine?” Alice reached out to touch the silk but snatched her hands back again. “Nay.”
“Aye, my lady.” William rose and approached her. “This is your bride gift.”
“Bride gift?” Like a silly, wooden poppet, she repeated his words but could not fathom his mood or the chest. “Your father already sent a bride gift.”
William shook his head. “Your bride gift from me to you.”
“Oh.” Little ripples of excitement quivered through her middle. A gift for her. Surely not. “I do not require a gift.”
“Alice.” William laughed and slid his arm about her waist. “If you required it, it would not be a gift. Come now. Are you not curious to see what I have brought you?”
Alice let him urge her closer to the sumptuous temptation of red spilling from the chest. Her father used to send her gifts for her birthing day, but he had not done so in years. Sister frowned on the custom of giving gifts over Christmas, so they offered alms to the poor instead. But a gift just for her. She nigh floated to the ground and knelt beside William.
“Touch it,” he said. “There is no finer silk in the kingdom.”
“I cannot.” Alice clasped her hands behind her back. Would the silk feel as magical against her palms as it looked? Would it feel soft as down or cool like water?
“It is yours.” William claimed her hand in his. “You can blow your nose on it if you like.”
The idea made everything in her recoil. “Nay.”
“Aye.” William mimicked her tone. “Here.” He took the silk from the chest. It spilled over his hand with a life of its own. “Feel.”
Cool, smooth, soft, and delicate, the silk stroked her cheek. Alice pressed into the heat of William’s palm beneath the fabric. He draped the silk over her shoulders.
“It is truly mine?”
“All yours.” William drew it from the chest, the silk sliding over her nape and pooling in her lap. His expression softened, and he touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. “Look into the chest, Alice.”
Beneath the silk lay more fabric in a green so lustrous it held life within it. A gasp escaped her. Surely, that could not be…
“Velvet,” William murmured as he drew it from the chest. “My sister, Beatrice, tells me there are days when a woman feels for silk, light and airy.” His voice deepened to a rich, bass rumble. “And then there are days when she wants the stroke of velvet over her skin.”
Alice’s fingers glided over the velvet in her lap. Queens and princesses wore such costly cloth. She’d heard of velvet, but to have it in her lap made her breath catch. Like the fur of a tiny kitten, the velvet felt alive and warm. The silk was lovely, but the velvet. Dear Lord, did anything rival this? “It is wondrous.”
“Then you should wear velvet every day if you love it so much.”
Wear velvet indeed! Alice snorted a small laugh.
“Why not?” William cocked his head and studied her. “I have the wealth to keep you swathed in velvet for the rest of your days.” He leant closer, a wicked gleam lit his eyes. “You could have your underclothes made of velvet if you fancied.”
“Would that not be a fine thing.” She laughed and stroked the velvet.
William rose and strode to a table beneath the casement. He carried a serving platter to where she knelt and set it beside her.
“What is this?” Alice had already dined.
“A wedding feast.” Chuckling, he handed her a goblet of wine. “You will not drink it in the hall, but in here, I am afraid I must insist.”
What else could she do? Airy bubbles of happiness rose inside her. Alice took the wine from him and sipped.
“Speaking of things I insist upon.” A harshness entered William’s voice. He frowned at her. “I thought we agreed no wimple in here.”
“Aye, but—William!”
He’d whipped the wimple from her head faster than she could blink, and sent it sailing across the chamber. “I hate that thing.”
Perhaps the wine muddled her thoughts, but she did not mind so very much. In truth, her head grew hot and itchy beneath it during the day, and it was a relief to have it off.
“Now.” He reached into the chest. “What else have we here?”
Gold inset with shining gems hung in his fingers. A girdle made entirely of gold links and inset with precious stones. Alice clapped her hands over her mouth and stopped her gasp. “That is not real gold?”
“Would I give my lady painted steel?” William looked so affronted that she laughed. “A lady needs a girdle to wear over her velvet gown, would you not say?”
“I…” Words escaped her. Against the velvet, the girdle would look rich and fine, like the one Lady Mary had worn at her wedding. Lady Mary’s girdle had swept her slipper tops. Silk slippers, Alice would guess.
“And what is a girdle without a matching necklace?” He placed the necklace around her neck.
“Oh.” Alice had never beheld a thing so lovely. Glittering gems nestled in the centers of gold wrought flowers and swirls. Lady Mary had also worn jewels at Alice’s wedding feast, but none as fine or delicate as this. Faery hands might have crafted it.
It was too much. Alice’s chest tightened until her breath sawed through her mouth. A hard knot formed beneath her breastbone and lodged there. “I cannot.”
“Alice.” William took her face between his warm, calloused palms. “It is all for you, my bride. Along with everything else in the chest.”
“Nay.” More fabric lay beneath the velvet, and the Lord alone knew what else. She had done nothing to deserve such bounty. Where would she wear such lovely things? Beautiful women with silvery laughter who walked on tiny clouds wore things like this. Plain little Alice of Tarnwych had no use for them. Oh, but how she would love a gown of the green velvet, or the red silk. To sweep into the hall with the heavy links of a golden girdle resting on her hips. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and snaked across her cheek.
William caught it with his finger. “I did not give you this gift to make you cry, my Alice.”
“I cannot accept them.” Saying the words aloud released more tears until the room grew blurry around her.
“Sweet girl,” William murmured as he touched his lips to her tears. “I wanted to give you joy, not tears. Do you not like the gift?”
“I love it.” The words rode a sob that began in her chest and burst out of her mouth. “I do not know what to do with such things.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear with a tender smile. “I am not a woman, but even I would wager that you would wear them.”
His silliness brought a choked half sob, half laugh out of her. “Where?”
“Anywhere you liked, little Alice. To the midden heap if it pleases you.”
Wouldn’t that be a fine thing to see? Alice laughed.
“There now.” He pressed at her nape, drawing closer, until the finely wrought lines of his lips seemed no further than a breath. “Now give me a kiss and say thank you William.”
Warmth prickled beneath her skin. The last time he had kissed her still simmered within her. “Thank you, William.”
Tightening his hands about her face he pressed his lips to hers.
Better than silk and velvet, even better than the jewels, was the firm caress of William’s lips on hers. She tilted her head and pressed closer into his kiss.
On a groan, he slipped his tongue into her mouth.
Prepared this time, Alice sunk deep into the sensation. Ripples of excitement spread through her, growing stronger as the kiss deepened.
William claimed her mouth, possessed it.
His thrilling ownership blossomed into heat that began in her center and spread. Greed for more swept through her. More William, more kissing, more of everything else. Alice wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed closer. Her breasts swelled and ached, sensitive against the rough fabric of
her chemise.
“Aye, Alice.” He trailed his lips down her cheek and found the heavy throb of her blood at her neck. His hands at her hips urged her closer to him.
Alice went willingly to the reward of his hard, male chest.
Over her back, his hot palms roamed. His lips tortured her skin.
Her breath came in soft pants from her mouth. She felt tiny, delicate and feminine within his arms. Like a cat, she arched into his touch.
“So sweet.” William’s kiss grew hungry, as if he could devour her.
And, aye, she welcomed it, came alight under the stroke of his tongue. She hadn’t known a man could taste of aught, and now it seemed as if she had lost years not knowing, and she could not waste another heartbeat. She burrowed her fingers in his hair, tightening her grip, keeping his mouth on hers.
“God, Alice.” He pulled away from her, his harsh breathing filling the tiny gap between their mouths. “Let me get you onto that bed before we go any further.”
Unease slithered down her spine, penetrating the blanket of lust he’d wrapped around her, and Alice drew back. He spoke of consummating the marriage. And suddenly she wanted to cry. She wanted him to keep kissing her, to keep making her feel like a live flame.
“Alice.” He tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “Do not be afraid.”
“I am not afraid.” Not exactly, but she did not want what came next. It would tarnish all the wonderful he had just given her. “I know what must be done.”
“Back to that are we?” William shocked her rigid with the nasty curse he uttered next. “Alice.” He clasped her shoulders and gave her a small shake. “Nothing will happen here that you do not want.”
Aye, so he said, but what she wanted did not matter between man and wife. “I want a child.”
“Aye.” William stood, and stared at her. “But the begetting of one does not have to be a fate worse than death.” He tugged her to her feet. “You know, my Alice, I could speak until I turned blue in the face, and you would still look at me with that stubborn little chin stuck out. The best way to prove you wrong, wife, is to prove you wrong.”