by Hall, Diana
Beatrice, in an aggressive manner, shooed the ladies from the area, even her mother. Her cousin radiated with confidence. Lenora supposed that now that the threat of marriage to Roen had dissipated, Beatrice could afford to be more forceful.
“This cannot be.”
“This can and will be,” Lenora replied with a determined set to her chin. She prepared to dig in for a battle.
“The marriage must be consummated.”
“It already has been. ‘Tis no matter ‘twas done before the cleric said his words.”
“Aye, it does matter. What if a child grows within you?”
Lenora gasped. The thought had not occurred to her. She placed her hand on her abdomen.
Beatrice nodded sagely. “Would you label your child a bastard? You must be with him tonight to protect yourself.”
The pout returned to Lenora’s lips. Her mind raced like a stallion freed of its reins. “Very well, the man will be in the room with me, but I will not allow him to touch me again, ever.”
Searing flames of recalled passion ignited her blood. Her face grew hot, her hands moist as she remembered the intimate way Roen had explored her body. She could not be alone with him again. Her mind did not rule her body as well as she wanted.
“If that is how you truly wish it.” Beatrice relented. “But how will you keep him from you? You are his wife and he has the right.”
“I’ll find a way not to let him touch me again.” She had lost herself in the heat of their lovemaking. The all-consuming emotions frightened her. Too much bedding with her husband and Lenora feared she would begin to care, to want more from Galliard than she knew he could or would give. She already had a loveless marriage; she didn’t want a broken heart, also.
Lenora climbed the stairs, Matilda and several women following behind. Catcalls and lewd laughter drifted from below. Her mind concentrated on the echo of her footsteps on the cold stone steps. With each hollow tone she repeated her promise not to let Galliard win. Her husband would soon learn she still had her wits about her.
Hamlin reached out and pulled Beatrice away from the queue of women behind Lenora. “Does she go to her chambers or the wedding bed?”
Beatrice’s face bloomed crimson. “To her wedding bed, but she does not intend to share it with her husband.”
Hamlin smiled and gave Beatrice a cavalier wink. “We’ve done our part, dove. She’s wedded to him and waiting in their bed. Roen can’t expect us to do all the work for him.”
“Aye, but if I know my cousin, he’s in for no light duty.” Beatrice resumed her climb upstairs.
“Roen enjoys a good challenge.”
Lenora’s voice issuing commands sounded from the gallery. The protests of the attending women were silenced with the sound of a crash. Beatrice gave Hamlin a look of disbelief. “If what you say is true, then I daresay, Sir Hamlin, your friend may look ahead to a most enjoyable wedding night.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I shan’t do it, do you hear?” Lenora threw off the arms of her attending women Making herself a dead weight, she plopped down in the chair, folded her arms and blotted out the scandalized whispers from her ladies.
“Lenora, stop this foolishness. You are a married woman now who must do service to her husband,” Matilda’s reedy voice droned.
“Service? I might as well be a brood mare.”
“’Tis a woman’s lot for her sins in the Garden of Eden.” Matilda reached to untie her niece’s laces. Lenora pulled away and tightened her crossed arms.
“I’ll not lie there naked in that bed like a pagan sacrifice. I have much to discuss with Galliard, and I want to be on equal footing.”
Matilda tugged at the ribbon laces of Lenora’s dress despite the barrier of her arms. The older woman’s eyes sharpened and her lips set in a tight, thin line. She reached into the brocade pocket tied at her side and pulled out a pair of sewing scissors. With a quick snip, Lenora felt her gown loosen.
Outraged, she stood and the kirtle crumpled to her hips, held in place by her corselet and girdle. Her aunt snipped the air for effect and closed in on her. “Nay, Aunt, do not. This girdle belonged to my mother, your sister,” Lenora protested.
“Then remove it now or you’ll own two instead of one.”
Lenora grumbled while her fingers moved quickly to untie the knot. The gown collapsed to the ground. Attending ladies bent swiftly to collect the garment. Lenora did not step away.
Her cousin came forth. “Do not let more damage take place to your wedding garb. You must wear it for your purification after each birthing.”
Birthing! The idea gave Lenora shivers of apprehension and an odd feeling of maternal longing. She tossed her braids across her shoulders and stepped stiffly from the folds of the dress. Beatrice swept down and retrieved it. She herded the women from the room and left. The door remained ajar for her mother’s exit.
“Now the chemise,” Matilda demanded.
Lenora responded instantly, her voice resounding across the room with authority. “I am lady of this keep and will make the demands. Do not think to touch me again and leave with no repercussions.”
Matilda drew back. Her dark eyebrows flew up in surprise at the venom in her niece’s words. “That woman in Aquitaine has completely ruined you. She taught you nothing of real life.”
“And what would you have taught me, Aunt?”
Matilda put away her scissors and faced her. “I would have taught you to learn acceptance. You are a woman, Lenora, not a man. Your lot is to lie in yon bed night after night and bear the attentions of your husband until his seed takes fruit. To suffer the pain of birthing and then to repeat the process until, God willing, he grows bored of you and finds a mistress.”
The shock of her aunt’s confession left Lenora immobile. “Has your life really been so miserable?”
“My life has been that of a good Christian woman.”
“And mine has not?” Lenora replied ruefully.
“’Tis no secret there will be no virgin mark upon this bed’s sheets.”
Lenora stiffened at her aunt’s affront. Icicles of shame began to dampen her rediscovered self-esteem.
“Get out!” Roen shouted the order from the opened door. His fury almost choked him. He lowered his voice to a menacing snarl. “Woman, leave my sight.”
Matilda sniffed arrogantly and gave him a haughty nod of her head as she passed. Hamlin and Beatrice waited in the foyer.
“Hamlin, see the lady has her things packed and ready to leave by morning.”
The comment stopped Matilda cold. “You cannot mean to throw Beatrice and me out. This is my home by rights.”
“I am lord here and my wife is the lady. An insult to her is an insult to me. You will move to the keep at Bridgeton. Sir Hywel will escort you on the morrow.” Roen’s tone left no room for discussion.
“I will go to the king.”
“Go to Henry, but this night is the last you spend here.”
“Do not think your fiendishness will go unavenged,” Matilda vowed. “Come, Beatrice, let us pack.”
Roen clarified his order. “Your daughter stays. She will be one of my wife’s ladies-in-waiting.”
The mottled red of Matilda’s face faded to white. “Nay, you cannot mean to separate us. Beatrice must be with me. She is too frightened to stay alone, here, with all these men.”
“She stays.” He turned to Hamlin. “My commands stand as we discussed. See they are carried out.” Roen closed the door on the ugly scene and entered the chamber. Sir Edmund’s room looked unchanged except that now it belonged to him and his wife.
Lenora sat on the chair, dressed only in her chemise. The untied drawstring at the throat of her underslip caused the neck of the silk wrap to slide down her shoulders. One milky white shoulder peeked from the confines of the material.
“Nora?” Roen knelt at her feet and stared into her eyes. He hoped the old hag’s words had not smothered the flames of her spirit he had witnessed downstairs.<
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“You bastard.” Lenora kicked her foot out and slammed it into his belly.
He fell back, relieved her foot had not met its lower, intended mark. Her words accomplished what her foot had not. The phrase revealed the truth of his parentage and made bile come to his throat.
Lenora rose from her chair and stood over him. “It did not take you long to fall into the role of lord, did it? In one command you remove my father’s relatives and his steward. ‘Tis surprising you did not throw them out immediately after that stuttering friar pronounced us wed.”
From the floor, Roen looked up and stared at her golden eyes. The copper ropes of her hair hung down her chest. Rising to one knee, he tugged at the ribbon ties that imprisoned her auburn tresses. Lenora pulled away and her braids loosened. A recalcitrant shake of her head and the seductive mantle of red gold locks cascaded uninhibited. She glided across the room and waited, her eyes never leaving his.
Ready to teach the hotheaded she-demon a lesson in humility, Roen prepared to lecture his wife on protocol. The sooner she learned her place, the better. He was lord here and he did not need to discuss his decision with a woman. As he opened his mouth to shout her name, the window behind his wife flooded with moonlight. The bellow was squelched to a choked whisper.
Silvery beams formed a halo around her. His eyes must have betrayed him, because she moved forward, a confused look on her face. He sucked in a breath and she stopped. White-hot blasts of passion sent tremors through his body as the thin chemise and the shimmering moonlight provided a dusky picture of Lenora’s attributes. The heavy outline of her bosom and the gentle swell of her hips were contours his eyes could not resist. His throat grew dry when his gaze took in the dark velvet shadow between her legs. Passion consumed him.
Like a lion, he rose to stalk his quarry. The desire for Lenora gnawed at him. He wanted to sate the thirst his body felt on the sweetness of her lips, the ecstasy of her body. This breach of his defenses chewed at his gut. His lust should have abated, but it raged even hotter. The situation and his own emotions needed to be brought back under control. To do that, he needed her to want him as much, if not more, than he desired her.
A battle plan formulated in his mind, the faults and strengths quickly analyzed. Stealth, patience and determination, the qualities of a good skirmish, all belonged to him. Roen prepared to lay siege to his wife’s passion.
Lenora took one step back when Roen began to rise. She took several more when she could not decipher the strange emotions that flickered over his face. Anger she had read immediately when he hit the floor. That emotion she liked; she knew how to handle it. Unfortunately, it came and went, replaced by a predatory look. His eyes became the color of the sea on a hot summery day. The color of passion. She did not care for his intense gaze fixed upon her face. Yet she could not pull away. He stood in front of her, too close.
“I have no intention of allowing you to heave my aunt and my father’s loyal man out of their home. Matilda and Hywel stay.” Lenora crossed her arms and stuck her chin at a jaunty angle.
Roen chuckled but made no move to touch her. “Do you really want me to believe that you want that shrew here in your home? Especially after what she said to you?”
“My feelings aren’t important. Beatrice needs her mother.”
“Beatrice needs to be allowed to stand on her own feet. To make her own mistakes. Everyone is always trying to protect her.”
“You don’t understand. She’s very sensitive. She’s seen terrible things in her life.”
“And some wonderful things. But she needs to discover these wonders on her own. She needs to learn that the world offers much, that she can open her arms and embrace it.”
Lenora bit her lip and racked her mind for further arguments. There were none. Liberating Beatrice from Matilda’s pessimistic attitude could only help her. Away from her mother, Beatrice would be able to build the confidence she so badly needed. With Matilda no longer a barrier, Geoffrey might reconsider his decision.
But Lenora did not want to give up the argument so easily. Roen needed to learn that she should be consulted before he made decisions about Woodshadow.
“Sir Hywel is steward here. He cannot be trotted off to Bridgeton like some old nag,” Lenora argued.
Roen sat on the chair and began to pull off his boots. He kept his head down to hide his satisfied grin. Her indomitable sensibility forced her to see his reason. Lenora’s ruffled feathers over Sir Hywel would be smoothed, then he would have no more nonsense. He did not intend to spend his wedding night in verbal activities.
The heavy boots hit the floor with a thud. He exercised his cramped toes and loosened his belt. “Nora, we both know Sir Hywel is a good man, but he can no longer be steward.”
“Will you stop calling me that ridiculous name. I refuse to answer to it.” Lenora turned from him, her face flushed with anger but far from quiet. “He’s served my father in an excellent fashion.”
“I know, and that is why I send him away now.” Roen rolled his hose down and threw them on the floor. The cool night air felt good on his naked legs and feet. He gave Lenora a direct look. “The added duties of seneschal only task his already weary brain.” Roen put up his hand to halt her protest. “Anyone in this castle with an open eye can see ‘tis you who guides the man’s hand. Do not think that Sir Hywel does not know it himself. A man as proud as he would not wish for all his friends to witness his decline. Let him go in the guise of seeing Matilda to her new home. There, without the stress of managing a large and strategic keep, he may hold on to his mind for a little longer. At least, he will not suffer the pity of those whom once he commanded.”
Reminded of Sir Edmund’s plan, Roen tried to be gentle. “Your father would wish this. He is a man who understands pride.”
Her stiff shoulders drooped. Her voice, thick with defeat, admitted the truth of his observation. “Aye, my father has always had a cup too much pride than was good for him.”
“Like father, like daughter.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she shot back. “If hubris is a crime, husband, then surely you would be at the gallows now.”
Roen chuckled out loud this time. He could not contain his happiness. The word husband on her lips sounded natural and pleasant. It pleased him she saw the reason of his actions. Guilt had dogged him about the old man. Sir Hywel had been a strong and devoted man. To force his retirement bothered him. Now, with Lenora’s blessing, the guilt abated. He felt more confident and at ease with his decision.
He also felt more confident about his wife. The spark that contained Lenora’s soul sparkled with renewed vigor. With every exchange, the embers built until the flame of life in her burned bright and hot. He glanced at the bed; she saw his look and her face went white. Roen cursed himself again. His own lust threatened to extinguish the flame. Patience, he reminded himself. This time, he wanted her willing. This night, he craved her acceptance.
So many days and nights he had sat at siege waiting for the long, stress-filled hours to pass. Roen called to mind the games and activities he and Hamlin had enjoyed. Anything to break the boredom. Roen crossed the room to give both himself and Lenora breathing space. He rested the palms of his hands on the oak table with his back to Lenora.
Roen pointed to the deep rows cut into the tabletop. “By Heavens. Nine Man Morris.” A smug smile tugged at his lips. “I’m quite good at this.”
“Really?” Lenora’s cinnamon eyes widened and she pushed a panel of wood on the side of the table and a drawer popped open. Inside, black-and-white marble stones lay displayed on a velvet cloth. “My father taught me to play. Would you care to play a game?”
Roen started to decline but thought better of it. The game depended on strategy and maneuvering, two qualities of a good commander. He had no doubt he could beat her soundly, yet perhaps it would help to ease her fright and his impatience.
“Aye, I will move the table next to the chest and use it as a seat. You may use the ch
air.” Roen lifted the table and grunted.
“Be careful with that.”
He dropped the piece in front of the chest. “Careful? The thing weighs a hundred stone. I could not break it if I dropped it from the window of the watchman’s tower.”
She started toward the chair. Roen got there first. He lifted it and placed it across from the chest with one swift arch of his arm.
“I said be careful.”
“Are all sticks of wood important to you or just a selected few?” He critiqued the craftsmanship then added, “You know, neither piece is all that well made.”
“They’re wonderful. At least they stand up to your abuse.”
Roen picked up the chair and held it upside down. He grabbed the legs and pulled them back and forth. “Look here, the joints are not square.”
Lenora swept down on him like a hawk. “Stop that. Father did a wonderful job on them.”
Roen immediately stopped his inspection. “Your father made this?” He pointed to the table. “And this, also?”
She nodded, pulled the chair from him and took her seat. From the drawer of the table she pulled the white stones and placed them on the board. Roen grabbed the black and listened to her explanation while he placed his stones.
“Father has always been a man with a lot of energy. During times of war, he could burn off most of it, but in the winter, or in between battles, he needed something to exercise his mind as well as his body. This table and chair were his first projects. He carved the game into the top when he finished and taught me to play.”
The words communicated volumes about her relationship with her father. Old resentment stirred in Roen’s breast. He closed his eyes and forced his anger to dissipate. “I see. Did he make many other things?”
“A few. They’re scattered about the castle.”
“Well, I’m sure his craftsmanship improved with practice.”
Lenora placed her finger on her mouth to stifle a smile. A delightful laugh escaped her full lips. “Nay, it did not. Louis and I would marvel at how the man could work so hard and never get better. But it kept him happy and that was the purpose. Whatever he made, I saw the beauty in it.”