The Conqueror's Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘It would certainly be more orderly that way,’ William said dryly, watching Della trip over Roger’s feet and turn a fall expertly into a wild spin. ‘They look a little foolish, do they not?’

  ‘But content,’ Mathilda dared to suggest as Herluin and Herleva floated past, holding each other tight.

  For a moment William watched his mother then suddenly he said, ‘We should retire.’

  Panic shot through Mathilda. Other couples were rising to join the dances and she had thought the evening only just begun.

  ‘Now, my lord?’

  ‘Why not? This dancing seems to have everyone amused so they need us no longer.’

  His logic could not be faulted.

  ‘But if we leave,’ Mathilda said, ‘they will have to stop.’

  ‘You wish to be formally escorted to your bedchamber?’

  ‘No!’ Mathilda looked at William and saw a wicked little smile on his lips. ‘You would sneak away, my lord?’

  ‘I will willingly sneak, Mathilda, if you will sneak with me?’

  Mathilda glanced around the hall and saw all faces turned to the ever-growing number of dancers. Even sturdy Cecelia had been lured onto the floor by a laughing Fitz and for the first time all day no one was watching their duke and duchess.

  ‘I will sneak,’ she agreed and before she could change her mind she boldly put her hand into William’s and let him lead her quietly through a little door behind them and out into the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  William put a hand to the heavy latch of his private chamber and looked to Mathilda.

  ‘Ready?’

  She wasn’t, of course, but she would never be so she just nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  He lifted the latch. A clatter from within told of servants scrambling to compose themselves and William, to Mathilda’s surprise, paused a moment to give them time before striding inside. Two young guards stood to attention either side of a roaring brazier but William dismissed them to the other side of the door with strict instructions to let no one come in and within moments they were alone.

  ‘What now, William?’

  He smiled at her.

  ‘We should probably undress.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She looked around.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘I have no attendants and my dress is laced at the back.’

  ‘Ah. Well, I can do that.’

  He moved behind her and reached for the ribbons. Mathilda stood very still, conscious of his fingers against her back and his breath on her neck. Soon she would know what all the fuss was about – or she might, if William’s warrior fingers could manage her laces.

  ‘The knot is very tight,’ he said gruffly, fumbling.

  Mathilda caught the impatience in his voice and feared angering him.

  ‘Shall I . . . ?’ she suggested, trying to lift her hands over her shoulders but just then, with a little cry of triumph, he untied the knot and pulled the ribbon all the way out of the loops in a long fluid motion.

  For a moment the gown clung to her shoulders and then the heavy fabric collapsed and slid to her wrists. Mathilda shrugged it away and the gown flopped to the floor as if exhausted. She looked down at the jewels now drowning in the folds of cream material but already William was taking her hand and helping her to step out of it and towards the bed.

  ‘Sit down, Mathilda.’

  She sank onto the edge of William’s big bed, feeling the softness of the furs through her flimsy undershift as he knelt before her and reached for her foot.

  ‘Heavens,’ he objected, regarding her neat boots, ‘these fastenings are tight too.’

  ‘I have very small feet, my lord.’

  ‘Call me William. Ah, there we are.’

  He released her foot from the first boot and, untying the ribbon binding it below her knee, rolled away her hose. His fingers on the skin of her ankle made her shudder with anticipation and he stroked it thoughtfully.

  ‘Do you like that?’

  ‘It feels nice,’ she agreed, ‘but I am nervous.’

  ‘Nervous? Please don’t be. I won’t hurt you, Mathilda.’

  ‘I know. I know that, my lord . . . William. But I want to please you.’

  ‘Oh, you please me, don’t worry about that. What matters, Wife, is if I please you.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Yes. My mother was most definite about that.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘She told me very firmly that I must remember that the act is not just for men but for women too and I should be sure to ask you what you liked.’

  ‘But I don’t know what I like.’

  ‘So we will find out.’

  He sounded so certain.

  ‘This is not your first time?’ she dared to ask.

  He rose and began calmly removing his tunic.

  ‘No. I lay with several women a few weeks ago in preparation.’

  Mathilda blinked.

  ‘A few women? All at once?’

  He laughed heartily.

  ‘No! Over several nights.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘I don’t think you do. I paid them, Mathilda.’

  ‘Paid them? They were concubines? But you’re a duke, William. You could . . .’

  ‘Have anyone I choose? I know, Mathilda, believe me I know – my father spent half his life having anyone he could choose – but I wanted professionals.’

  ‘Why?’

  William was removing his tunic now, exposing a lean, muscular chest sprinkled, to Mathilda’s surprise, with soft, dark hair. She reached up a hand to touch it and William moved closer and pulled her to standing. The hairs were feather-soft against her fingertips and the muscle rock hard beneath and she felt a shudder of something she hoped might be desire.

  ‘I wanted professionals, Mathilda, to show me what to do – how to please you.’

  ‘Oh. And, er, did they?’

  ‘They showed me only that every woman is different. You will need to teach me about yourself.’

  ‘But I do not . . .’

  ‘We will learn together. May I remove your shift?’

  Mathilda swallowed and nodded. She raised her arms and he bunched the skirts up in his big hands and lifted the garment cleanly away leaving her naked.

  ‘Ah, Mathilda,’ he said, ‘I thought you were beautiful in that dress but you are much, much more so without it. No, please, do not cover yourself – why hide such glory?’ He threw the shift to the floor and reached out towards her breast. ‘May I?’ he asked again.

  ‘Of course you may.’

  He stopped, his hand still hovering, so close she could feel the heat of its intent.

  ‘I know I may, Mathilda. I know I am permitted. I have wed you. Under Norman law I can do more or less whatever I wish with you, but I wish to do what you wish.’

  He was looking at her so intently she longed to turn away, to hide her nakedness under the covers and have him get on with it and leave her be. She felt exposed and awkward but she could hardly complain at his kindness.

  ‘You may touch me,’ she forced herself to say and then she dared to lean forward so that her breast brushed his finger. His grip tightened and she winced. ‘Not so hard.’

  She regretted the instruction immediately but William simply loosened his grip, running his fingers over her nipple instead so it rose to welcome him. Little shoots of something that might become pleasure rippled out from his touch.

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His other hand moved to her other breast. They both looked down at it, as if there might be some outward sign of her enjoyment but there was none, save the rounding of her nipples. He was right – the only way he would know if she liked what he was doing would be if she told him, but in all her extensive education no one had given her the vocabulary to express this. She would have to work it out for herself, as Emeline had presumably done.

&nbs
p; She let her hands run round from William’s chest to his back. The muscles flexed and she heard his breath catch and felt his excitement ignite her own. Dropping her hands to the waistline of his trews, she felt for the ties that held them.

  ‘May I?’ she asked.

  ‘Please do.’ But then he stepped back and put a hand over her own to stop her. ‘I am aroused, Mathilda.’

  ‘Good. That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but I may not be as . . . controlled as I should.’ Mathilda looked blankly at him. ‘My mother says women need time and I may not, erm, last that long, not at first. It’s just that you are so beautiful and you are my wife and . . .’

  ‘And we have all night, William. Nay, all our lives.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you are right, Mathilda. How wonderful. It’s just that my father, so I’m told, was a very great lover.’

  ‘Your mother told you that?’

  Mathilda thought of Adela’s scathing comments about ‘making heirs’ and couldn’t imagine ever having such a conversation with her.

  ‘She did and half the court besides. He was known for it.’

  ‘Is it any wonder,’ Mathilda suggested, ‘if he had as much practice as you say. Your mother was not his only mistress?’

  ‘Lord, no. She was his favourite, I think, but Duke Robert was a man of . . . appetites.’

  ‘And you wish to be like him?’

  Mathilda heard her voice wobble and hated herself for it. All great men had mistresses, everyone knew that. She just hadn’t expected to have to confront that on her wedding night. But now William grabbed her and clamped her close.

  ‘No, Mathilda,’ he said, so loud it echoed off the walls. ‘I do not wish to be like him in that respect. We will share a chamber from now on, my wife, so I will be always at your side. I lay with concubines solely to learn how to do well for you.’

  ‘Like military training?’

  ‘Exactly like. How is a man to excel at something without experience?’

  ‘You like to excel, William?’

  ‘I do. I must if I am to hold my dukedom – and my duchess.’

  ‘You are holding me already,’ she pointed out, looking up at him through her lashes as she had oftimes seen Emeline do. She felt his response against her hips and, liking it, put her hands again to the ties of his trews.

  ‘So I am,’ he said, ‘and you must know, Mathilda, that I will never hold another woman from this day forward. Though I may, my beautiful wife, wish to hold you quite often.’ With a sudden, surprising grin, he lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed. Winding his trews free, he knelt up over her, his arousal now clear. Mathilda tried not to look. ‘I am going to touch you and you are going to say if it is nice. Yes?’

  Mathilda nodded. This was nothing like she’d imagined. Nothing, she suspected, like the average bride’s experience, but William was not the average bridegroom. He was looking at her with admiration, tenderness even, but also with fierce concentration as if she were a battle he would win. That made her feel both excited and terrified but it was a combination she was getting used to with her new husband and she understood there was little to do but submit.

  ‘Are you going to kiss me, William?’ she asked.

  ‘Would you like me to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I will. And after that we will find your joy.’ It was, as usual with William, a statement of intent. ‘You are ready?’ he asked again.

  Mathilda looked at her body, naked before his, and reached an arm up around his neck.

  ‘I am ready.’

  William was true to his word and tireless in his diligence. At some point the court, alerted to their duke’s escape, came to the door calling indignantly raucous jokes, but the guards stood firm and eventually they stomped away. William barely even glanced up, so intent was he upon his bride.

  ‘That’s good,’ Mathilda told him so many times she lost count but he was not satisfied. ‘There is better,’ he insisted and then suddenly, somewhere in the darkest part of the night, there was better. Much better.

  ‘You were right,’ Mathilda panted into his chest afterwards, burrowing herself against him, ashamed of her own involuntary cries.

  ‘I am always right,’ he said easily. ‘Do not be embarrassed, Mathilda. Pleasure is the goal in the marriage bed so to achieve it is a success.’

  It sounded so calculated that way but also strangely comforting. Clearly love was not needed for effective union. Mathilda looked up at him and he kissed her.

  ‘Can I sleep now?’

  He kissed her again.

  ‘Of course you can, my Mathilda, my Maud, my Mora.’

  ‘Mora?’

  ‘My amor – my love. Is that not right? I have little Latin.’

  ‘Mora?’ She tried the strange name. ‘It is right enough.’

  ‘You do not like it?’

  ‘No, I do. I like it very much.’

  ‘Then I shall call you it, just between us, as an indicator of my love.’

  ‘Love?’ she echoed squeakily. She was touched if a little thrown by his choice of word and hastily added, ‘I am truly your duchess now.’

  ‘You are. Are you pleased with your choice of husband?’

  On that, at least, she was sure.

  ‘Very pleased.’ She could feel sleep tugging at her but fought it. ‘I am delighted, William, truly.’

  ‘Good.’ He kissed her yet again and pulled the covers up around them, tucking them in. Her eyes closed blissfully. ‘But do not,’ she half-heard him say, ‘be too content with duchess.’

  ‘Why, William?’

  ‘Because I swear, my Mora, that as I have brought you joy on this, our first night together, I will one day bring you a crown. It may take time and patience and we may have to try different means to achieve it, but I will bring you a crown.’

  That woke her up.

  ‘Which crown, William?’

  He curled closer to her and dropped his own voice as close to a whisper as she suspected it could get.

  ‘England, Mathilda.’ She gasped and he kissed her quiet. ‘I know people in King Edward’s court. Influential people. The new Archbishop of Canterbury was previously Abbot of Jumièges and my confessor as a youth. He is kind enough to promote my interests to my cousin – my childless cousin.’

  Mathilda felt a thrill shoot down to her core, chasing the sensations William’s fingers had roused in her just a little time before, but did not dare surrender to it.

  ‘Surely the Saxons will not want a Norman on their throne, William?’

  ‘Why not? Cnut was a Dane and he ruled for years. And I am related to the crown. Edward’s mother is my great-aunt and I knew him as a boy.’

  ‘Edward?’ Mathilda sat up, fascinated. She’d known King Edward had been an exile in Normandy for years but had stupidly not thought of William spending time with him. ‘What is he like?’

  ‘I don’t know about now, but back then I remember him as mainly angry. The first year I was duke we gave him and his brother Alfred ships to try and claim the English throne after Cnut’s death. I was only eight, Mathilda, but I was caught up in the excitement of it – for a while at least.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It did not go well. Alfred landed and marched on London but was arrested. Edward decided to return to Normandy without ever even leaving the harbour at Sandwich, which was probably a wise decision but I remember being very disappointed. Plus, Edward was even more angry after that.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘No, with Earl Godwin – for he was the one who arrested his brother and then had his eyes put out so hideously that he died of the bleeding.’

  Mathilda grimaced.

  ‘No wonder he does not like him.’ Her thoughts flew to Judith. ‘My cousin is to marry Tostig Godwinson, you know.’

  ‘I’d heard, yes. I fear it is not a wise choice for her. That family’s star is waning as Edward’s rises.’

  ‘And yours with it, William?
’

  ‘Perhaps. I was only thirteen when Edward left Normandy but I had been duke for six years and had done my best to support him. I believe I have his gratitude and he might, perhaps, see that I have the makings of a good king.’

  ‘Of an excellent king, William.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘And you an even more excellent queen. You have royal blood, so deserve a throne, my beautiful Mathilda.’

  Again she felt the thrill and again she resisted. The thought of being a queen was exciting, of course, and the very possibility of it felt like a vindication of her choice of husband, a reward even. But she did not want to inspire war.

  ‘You need not win this for me, William, truly. Duchess is a good title.’

  ‘It is, Mathilda, it is, but there is better. There is definitely better and I will find it for you.’

  She did not doubt it and as sleep tugged at her again her thoughts drifted to England. It seemed she might truly be heading there after all and not through cowardly Brihtric but through Duke William. Forget love, she had made the right choice of husband and could face the future with pride.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bruges, July 1051

  ‘Tostig Godwinson,’ Judith breathed, unable to believe he was really here.

  He was a beautiful man, fine-boned and fluid, with a natural grace and a contained confidence that made Judith burst with pride.

  ‘He’s here for me,’ she whispered to herself and was instantly overcome with a fear of disappointing him.

  Her ladies, appointed once the Godwinson family’s visit had been confirmed, had spent most of the day readying her. She could have painted all of the Virgin’s veil in the time it had taken to wash and comb her hair through and wind it into a great coil of braids. She even had eastern rouge on her lips and kohl around her eyes, as if she were a painting herself, and the thought of that false beauty buoyed her a little as her intended husband approached.

  ‘Lady Judith.’ His voice was warm and lingered over her name, making it sound as exotic as her cosmetics made her feel. ‘Are you truly to be my wife?’

  ‘I believe so, my lord,’ Judith stuttered, ‘if you are willing?’

  ‘Oh, I am willing, Judith. You look delectable.’