“First, Father Bernard must write my paper,” Isabelle said, “and then you must sign it, my lord husband.”
“Agreed!” he answered her, and called for parchment, pen, and ink to be brought to the priest.
As it took several minutes to find the required items, the servants cleared the high board of all evidence of the meal, putting the leftover bread and cheese into a basket to be distributed to the poor, as was the custom at Langston. Finally the priest was settled, a clean parchment before him, his newly sharpened quill tip inked.
“Tell him what you would have him write, my lady wife,” the lord of Langston said to her.
Isabelle pondered it a moment, and then she said, “I, Hugh Fauconier, lord of Langston Keep …”
Father Bernard scribbled swiftly.
“… swear upon the name of our lord, Jesus, and his holy, Blessed Mother Mary that I shall treat my spouse, Isabelle of Langston, with respect and dignity.”
The priest’s hand slowed, but then hearing no order to cease from Hugh, continued to take Isabelle’s dictation.
“I shall not beat my wife, nor abuse her with harsh words.”
Alette de Manneville gasped, shocked by her daughter’s daring. She fully expected her new son-in-law to stop the girl, but he did not.
“In my absence, my wife shall take on my authority over Langston, and its people, for I consider her my equal.”
Alette cried out softly, falling into a chair, her hand over her heart. “Mon Dieu!” she whispered, her heart beating in terror as she awaited Hugh Fauconier’s justifiable wrath.
“That is all, my lord husband,” Belle said calmly.
“Rolf, you and Father Bernard will witness this document,” Hugh said quietly, bending to sign it. When they had, Hugh rolled up the parchment and handed it to Isabelle. “The first gift in your dower,” he said with a small smile. “I do indeed keep my word, chérie.”
“When do I have my lessons?” she asked him.
“In the afternoons,” he told her. “With your permission, we will leave the running of the household in your mother’s capable hands for the time being, my lady wife. In the mornings you will ride out with us so that you are kept fully familiar with the estate. I expect that both Rolf and I will be called upon to join the king’s armies come summer. You will have to oversee Langston while we are gone.”
Belle nodded. “I will go and fetch my cloak,” she said, hurrying off.
“While we are out,” Hugh said to his mother-in-law, “you will see that my wife’s possessions are moved into the solar, lady. I would know how much she understands of the intimacies that transpire between a man and his wife. What have you told her?”
“I have told her nothing, my lord,” Alette answered him. “There was no need until now, but before tonight I shall advise her to yield to you in all you desire, my lord.”
He saw the distaste in her eyes. She had obviously not been happy in her bed sport with her late husband. It was good she had not told Isabelle anything, passing on her fears and aversions. “Say nothing to Belle, lady,” he said gently. “I am a kind man, and will not hurt her.”
Her relief was almost palpable. She curtsied to him and hurried away, her blue skirts swirling about her ankles as she went.
“You will have to woo her tenderly, Rolf,” Hugh said to his friend.
The denial sprang quickly to his lips, but then Rolf de Briard sighed. “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said. “I want to marry her, Hugh. Does it surprise you? Will you permit it? She is, after all, in your charge now.”
“You could have a younger woman,” Hugh said. “She is past thirty and may not be able to have children for you.”
“It matters not to me,” Rolf told his friend.
“Then if you can gain her favor, Rolf, I have no objections. You are her equal in rank. A knight. The steward of Langston. Your addresses will, however, have to be gentle in nature. The lady Alette, I suspect, was not happy with Robert de Manneville. He may have hurt her, making her fearful of the sweetness between a man and his wife.”
Rolf de Briard nodded. “She has hinted, more by what she has not said than by anything she has, that she did not love him.”
“Spring is coming,” Hugh said with a small smile. “A woman’s heart is more easily breached in the spring, I think, than at any other time of the year. I will leave you to your own devices for I have my work cut out for me with ma Belle.” He chuckled.
“You two appear to have come to some sort of understanding,” Rolf noted, a twinkle in his warm brown eyes. “My poor heart almost jumped from my chest when you asked the priest to marry you, but she did not shriek with outrage. And that document you let her dictate. No court would recognize such a thing. Both God’s law and English law give man complete control over his wife. You know it, Hugh.”
“I do,” the lord of Langston agreed, “but Isabelle needed the reassurance that the paper gives her. She will never know the law because she will have no need of it, Rolf. I am not a brute who will be cruel to his family as her father obviously was.”
“You have too soft a heart,” Rolf muttered.
“Only for ma Belle,” Hugh said with a small smile. “She bewitches me, Rolf. I like her spirit. I have far better ways to spend the time with her than in argument. I want my children to come from love as I came from my parents, may God assoil their young souls.”
“My lord!” Isabelle stood at the head of the hall impatiently tapping her foot. “Are you coming? Or do you mean to spend the day in idle chatter with your steward?”
The two men laughed, and taking their cloaks from the waiting servants, joined her. Outside, the ground was newly snowy, but Isabelle informed them that the real storm would come later in the afternoon. They rode out across the estate, Isabelle telling them which fields would lie fallow in the coming planting seasons and which would be planted with barley, rye, corn, and wheat.
“We require three days’ labor each week from the serfs and freedmen alike,” Isabelle explained. “It is rare, once the fields are planted, that we need all their time. My father always made them give it, but I found they worked better for me if I let them go when their work was done, provided it was done well. During harvest we all work together to get the crop in, going from one field to the next, starting, of course, with the demesne holdings. I allow gleaning in both the fields and the orchards once the harvest is in safely.”
“You were a good chatelaine, ma Belle,” Hugh told his bride.
“The serfs resented me because I was the daughter of the Norman lord, and because I am a female; but I was hard with them for it,” she said grimly. “I would not let Langston fail!”
It is strange, Hugh thought as they rode along. For all he was the rightful Saxon heir to Langston, Isabelle was more of Langston than he was, having been born and raised here. Her sense of honor and of loyalty pleased him. He hoped his grandparents one day would make the trip from their home in the west to meet her. He somehow knew they would approve of this hellion he had been given as a wife.
The snow was beginning to fall in earnest as they returned to the keep. Smoke rose from the smoke holes of the cottages as they passed through the village. Not even a dog was left to wander the street in the lowering weather. It was almost midday, and Alette had the main meal ready and waiting for them. There was duck, a minced venison pie, a thick pottage of winter vegetables, hard-cooked eggs, bread, butter, and cheese. Those at the high board ate from silver plates and drank their wine from silver goblets. The others in the hall ate and drank from wooden pieces. Afterward a bowl of apples and pears was placed upon the high board. The fruit both looked and tasted amazingly fresh. Hugh remarked upon it.
“When we harvest them in October,” Alette explained, “I dip some of them in wax to preserve them better, then store them in a dry, cool place. Now in February, the fruit tastes as if it has been just plucked from the tree.”
“ ’Tis very clever of you, my lady,” Ro
lf said quickly.
“ ’Twas a trick my aunt taught me,” she returned.
That afternoon Father Bernard began teaching Isabelle her letters. She was an intelligent girl, and quickly mastered the alphabet. Alette occupied her time at her loom, weaving a tapestry she had been working on now for over a year. Hugh and Rolf busied themselves going over estate matters while their two squires gathered up the new men-at-arms not on duty, and taking them to the armory, taught them the proper care of their weapons. The evening came, and outside the keep the wind howled as it rose with the storm. The hall became a trifle smoky, for one of the fireplaces did not draw well. The evening meal of bread, cheese, cold meats, and stewed fruits was set out. Gradually the hall began to clear of those who did not belong there, for at Langston the hall was only used for sleeping in an emergency. The servants slept in the attics above the hall, as did the two squires.
Alette came to her daughter’s side. “I have had Ida and Agneatha prepare a bath for you in the bathing chamber. Come, and I will help you, Isabelle. It is your wedding night. While you were out today we moved all your possessions into the solar, which you will now share with your husband. Agneatha may continue to share my chamber with Ida, unless you wish her with you—but not tonight.”
Isabelle rose, silent. She had forgotten about this other part of marriage. How foolish of her to have overlooked the fact that she would be sharing a chamber with Hugh Fauconier. Following her mother into the bathing chamber, she allowed the three women to bathe her, pinning her own braid as she stepped into the stone tub, saying, “What is that smell? Since when do I wallow in perfumed water?”
Agneatha giggled, ducking a blow from the older Ida. “ ’Tis lavender, lady. A new bride should smell her sweetest for her husband.”
“Men like this stink?” Isabelle looked dubious.
“The fragrance will not be so strong once you have dried off,” Alette said quietly, “but a man does enjoy a fragrant woman.”
Without the aid of the servants, Belle scrubbed herself vigorously, then rinsing, stepped from the tub, clean and rosy. Ida and Agneatha carefully dried her off, and Alette handed her daughter a clean chemise. Isabelle slipped it on, reaching up afterward to loosen her braid. She sniffed critically at herself.
“I can still smell that damned lavender, madame,” she grumbled.
“It is a fresh and pleasing fragrance,” Alette replied. Then she pointed to a small door in the wall that Belle had never before really noticed. “It opens into the solar, my daughter. You will not have to go out into the hall.” Alette kissed Isabelle on her forehead. “Good night, my child. God give you a peaceful rest.” Then opening the door, she practically pushed the girl through into the adjoining chamber, and closed the door behind her.
The solar was the lord of the keep’s private chamber. Belle had spent little time here, for when her father had been in residence, he had allowed none but Alette the freedom of his privy chamber. When her father had been away from Langston, Alette preferred the hall, except at night, when she slept here. There was a fireplace; the narrow windows in the room were tight, the chamber comfortably warm. In fact Isabelle could never before remember having been so toasty within the keep, whose gray stone walls seemed to husband the damp and cold. In summer it was an advantage, but in the winter it was not.
“Come, Belle, and sit with me,” Hugh called to her.
She started, unaware that he had been in the room, but then she saw him in the straight-backed chair by the fire. “There is no place for me to sit, my lord,” she answered him.
She saw him hold out his hand in the light of the fire. “We will share the seat,” he replied. “Come.”
He was a big man, and she no petite maiden. She did not see how they could share the narrow wooden chair, but she moved to his side. Reaching up, he drew her down into his lap. She stiffened with shock, then attempted to arise, but he held her firmly.
“Is this not nice?” he said to her. “Put your head upon my shoulder, ma Belle. You will be more comfortable that way.”
She sat rigidly, hardly breathing. “What are you doing, my lord?” she demanded nervously of him. Why on earth was he holding her like this?
“I am attempting to have a cuddle with my pretty wife,” Hugh said.
She didn’t know what to answer him, and so she remained silent.
“Are you afraid, ma Belle?” he asked her gently.
“Afraid?” Her young voice was tremulous, yet she attempted to sound scornful. “Afraid of what, my lord?”
“Of the intimacy between a man and his wife, perhaps?” His voice was kind, even understanding. It irritated her. He was treating her like a child, and she was not a child.
“I know nothing of such intimacy, my lord!” she snapped at him.
“As a wellborn virgin, you should not,” he told her. “That is why I am attempting to educate you in such matters as tenderly as I can. What transpires between a husband and wife regarding bed sport can be most pleasurable for them both. I know that I will gain great pleasure from your sweet body, ma Belle; but I would that you receive equal pleasure from me as well.”
“I have seen the animals mating,” she mumbled low to him.
“We are not animals,” he replied, drawing her head down to his shoulder, “You are a brave girl, ma Belle, but all maidens are a little fearful of the unknown. Trust me, chérie.” His hand smoothed her head. “Let me lead you. I will be gentle, I promise.”
She didn’t know how she should respond to him. She felt a trifle foolish, which angered her, but then he began skillfully to unlace her chemise. She caught at his hands, struggling with herself not to cry out.
“Non, non, chérie,” he softly chided her, brushing her hands away as if they were two moths. Successfully completing his task, he pushed the soft linen fabric from her shoulders, baring her to the waist.
Unable to help herself, Isabelle cried out low, but his response was to press his lips against hers, stifling the outburst. Pulling away, she pressed her palms into his chest. “Oh, please don’t!” she half whispered. To her intense mortification, her eyes filled, a single tear escaping to rush headlong down her pale cheek.
Leaning over, he caught the tear with the tip of his tongue. His eyes never left hers.
Isabelle shivered violently, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions his act aroused in her.
Hugh saw the fear in her eyes. He drew her back into the comfort of his embrace. “Do not be afraid of me, chérie,” he pleaded with her. “You are my bride, and you are so fair. I cannot help but desire you.”
“Until you kissed me last night,” she answered him, “I had never been approached by any man. I thought kissing foolish, but then you showed me it could be pleasurable. What is it you wish to do to me now, my lord? And is it pleasurable as well?”
He sighed deeply. “I would teach you, ma Belle,” he told her. “I would join my body with yours in sweet communion.” Mother of God! Had he ever even had a virgin before? He did not think so. It was more complicated than he thought it would be. Should he force the girl, she would be terrified, and never forgive him. He would have to be very patient. He did not think he had ever been called upon to contain his lust before. Tentatively he reached out, cupping one of her breasts in his hand. “Ahhh, chérie,” he sighed.
She trembled, but said nothing.
It was a sweet breast. Very much like a ripe, round little apple. He fondled it, brushing his thumb across the silken nipple, which hardened almost immediately beneath his touch. He caressed her other breast in a similar fashion, then said to her, “Your little tits are by far the prettiest I have ever seen, ma Belle. I would kiss them.”
“Not yet!” she managed to gasp, squirming just slightly in his lap as his hand slipped down her torso, pushing her chemise ahead of it. His fingers smoothed around her flat belly, then slipped lower to entangle themselves in her silken bush. Isabelle could not draw a breath. Then he was sitting her up again. His eyes seeme
d glazed, but his voice was commanding when he spoke to her.
“Now, chérie, I want you to undo my chemise as I have undone yours. I want to feel your hands on me, ma Belle.” His look was intense.
She was curious, however, and very aware that the only garment he was wearing was his chemise. Unlike her garment, which extended to her ankles, his went only to his knees, and was slit up on either side of his leg and hip. She unlaced him with clumsy fingers, finally pushing the garment from him. It fell to his waist. His chest was very broad and very smooth, his flat nipples prominent and rosy. Timidly, she touched him, surprised to find his skin as soft as her own.
“That is nice,” he said, encouraging her with a little smile.
Isabelle blushed shyly, embarrassed at being unable to control her hands. They didn’t want to stop caressing his broad chest. Her fingers made small circles across his skin, stroking, smoothing his flesh. She could feel the warmth of him through her very fingertips. He took one of those hands now. Raising it to his lips, he slowly kissed first the inside of her wrist, and then her palm. His silvery-blue eyes never left her green-gold ones. Her breath was caught somewhere in mid-throat, and yet she was breathing. He held her hand against his cheek for a long moment before letting it go. Belle buried her head in his shoulder diffidently. It was all so new, and not just a little frightening, although she would have rather died than admitted such a thing to him.
He cradled her gently, caressing her hair, undoing the ribbon that held her braid so neatly, his digits skillfully unplaiting her red-gold tresses, fluffing it out so that it was spread about her white shoulders. He sniffed audibly, appreciatively. “What is that fragrance, chérie? It is absolutely delicious!” He nuzzled her hair near her neck.
“Lavender.” She practically whispered the word.
He took her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, turning her toward him, forcing her head up with a firm but smooth motion. He had never really looked closely at her until this moment. She had an oval-shaped face with a faintly squared chin that housed a little dimple. Her eyes were oval-shaped, too. A quick, startled look at him and they lowered, dark, thick lashes brushing her pale cheeks. The nose was long, narrow, and typically arrogant Norman; but it was her mouth that mesmerized him. It was full and lush, and simply made for kissing. He had been unable to resist it last night. He was unable to resist it now.
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