by Speer, Flora
He took her hand and placed it on his engorged manhood, and Selene felt the fire between her thighs begin to burn once more.
“I want you again,” she whispered in amazement, pulling him toward her.
“I hoped you would.” He entered her slowly, carefully, as though he feared he might hurt her. She sighed, pressing herself against him, feeling his warm flesh on hers, imagining she was slowly absorbing him into herself. She did not even remember her earlier fears about this act, all she knew now was Thomas, holding her close, bringing ever-increasing warmth to the very center of her being. She lost all sense of time or place. She was an empty vessel waiting to be filled, and Thomas filled her, made her whole, and then broke her into a thousand tiny fragments of intense joy, before he molded her softly back together again. She lifted heavy eyelids and saw him looking at her with love.
They made love again and again that night, while across the room Deirdre slept peacefully. Selene was so drugged with Thomas’s loving that she forgot her purpose for a while, but in the grey dawn, with his head pillowed on her bosom, she recalled it. He had just told her he adored her and would do anything for her. Anything.
“Will you take me to Brittany?” Selene asked. “I would like to show Deirdre to my parents.” She felt him tense within her arms, and knew she had better not remind him that Isabel was in Brittany, living in the house Sir Valaire had provided. Once they were in Brittany, she would convince him to visit his mother.
“You have told me repeatedly that you do not like your mother,” Thomas said. “Why should you want to see her now?”
“It’s for my father,” Selene replied. “I would like to take his granddaughter to him.”
“We can’t leave Afoncaer. Uncle Guy needs me. In any case, I think your father will have other concerns for a while. King Henry is going to Normandy after the new year. There will be war with France again. I won’t take you, or our daughter, into danger.”
Selene could have cried with frustration at the failure of her plan. She knew there was no way to change Thomas’s mind, and in her heart she agreed with him about crossing the Narrow Sea during a war. Isabel would have to wait. Selene would discharge her obligation to Thomas’s mother at some other time.
Meanwhile, Selene discovered she had opened a door she could not easily close again. After their romantic night together Thomas expected her to move back into their shared bedroom, and he wanted to make love to her regularly. That could only lead to one thing: another child.
Selene worried constantly, her nerves strung to acute tenseness, her temper exploding at the slightest irritation. Cristin began to avoid her again after being slapped for picking up the baby without permission. Arianna was screamed at when she tried to help Selene with Deirdre’s laundry. They did not speak for two days, until Selene, at Thomas’s express order, apologized to her friend, and the two reconciled with tears and promises not to quarrel again. The next day Selene ordered Meredith away from the baby. She could not seem to control herself. Everything that happened within her sight or hearing annoyed her, everyone who spoke to her was blasted with harsh words. Reynaud bothered her most, watching her, always watching.
Deirdre became fretful. Selene’s milk dried up, making her nearly hysterical. Meredith, who thought her concern was all for the baby’s sake, assured her the wet nurse she had found was clean and healthy and had more than enough milk for both her own and Selene’s child. Having lost the protection nursing offered against another pregnancy, Selene worried even more. She used every excuse she could to avoid Thomas’s lovemaking, until he threatened to take her by force.
Relations between them deteriorated still further. To keep Thomas away from her, Selene quarreled with him frequently, always over trifles. Too often the quarrels degenerated into rages so intense that afterward she could not recall what she had said or done, though the evidence lay all about her in broken dishes or torn clothing or dismantled bed linens.
“I have tried not to strike you,” Thomas told her after one such episode. “But I warn you, Selene, if this goes on much longer, I will lose my temper, and when I do, I will surely beat you.”
“I don’t care,” Selene raged at him, her anger flaring again. If she made peace with him he would want to make love to her, and the inevitable result of that terrified her. She could not stop herself, she began screaming senseless threats and scratching at his eyes and face.
Thomas, barely avoiding her sharp nails, slung her over his shoulder, dumped her onto the bed, and held her down until her shrieks of rage and fear had subsided into helpless sobs, then tearful quiet. Finally, her fury spent, Selene slipped into exhausted slumber.
Thomas sat there still, upon the bed they shared, shaking with his own reaction to her unmanageable frenzy, and wishing he could weep. He had wanted to make love to her. He no longer did. He touched her beautiful, pale face, but she did not move. Her silky hair had come loose during their struggle. It lay tangled across the bedcover. He lifted a strand and twisted it about his fingers, then sighed and let it go.
He sat a moment longer, watching her and admitting to himself for the first time that the passionate affection he had once felt for her was weakening. He loved her still, with a sad, hopeless love coupled with deep regret for her inability to love him in return. Despite her constant denials of his need, he still desired her lovely body. But he had had to make too many excuses for her, first for her lack of charity and industriousness, then for the bad temper and self-absorption that had characterized her pregnancy, and now for the cruelty and indifference with which she treated everyone she met. He needed a woman who would face life’s inevitable problems and tragedies with reasonable calm and fortitude, who would gain the respect and loyalty of the rest of her household.
Selene was not reasonable. There were doubtless those who would say she was half mad. Pity rose in Thomas, blocking out his anger and frustrated desire.
“Poor child,” he whispered. “We are linked together whether you want it or not. I can only try to help you grow into what you should be, and into what I need.”
Days passed, and Selene’s temper grew worse instead of better. Thomas was close to complete despair. It was Guy who offered a suggestion that might provide some relief.
“Selene is destroying the peace of everyone in the castle,” Guy said. “She has become intolerable. I think it might help if the two of you went away for a while. Leave Deirdre with us, and take Selene to Tynant. If she refuses, you must insist upon it.There’s good reason for you to go. Reynaud has completed his plans to make Tynant safer from Welsh attack. Take the plans and go help Geoffrey build the new defenses. Geoffrey can use you, and Selene will be the only woman there, apart from the servants. She will have no interference with anything she wants to do, no woman who ranks above her. Perhaps that will pacify her. Settle your differences there.”
Thomas recognized that Selene could not go on as she had been doing. He agreed readily to Guy’s suggestion, knowing Geoffrey’s placid character would accept Selene calmly whatever she said or did, and offer no provocation to her uncertain temper.
Neither Guy nor Thomas knew then of the most recent addition to Geoffrey’s household. It was at Tynant that Selene met Gwenefer.
Chapter 10
Tynant Manor January, A.D. 1117
“I can hardly believe it,” Thomas said. “Geoffrey and a woman.”
“Hasn’t he had women before?” Selene asked.
“Of course, but not like this. Just unimportant girls. This is different. I think he loves her. Do you mind that she sits at meals with us? I can tell Geoffrey to take her off the dais and send her to one of the lower tables while we are here.”
“I don’t mind,” Selene said. “I’m so tired of seeing the same people all the time at Afoncaer, and they always talk about the same things. Gwenefer is different, and very amusing with those songs she sings, and all those funny stories. She has a lovely voice. She can provide our entertainment each night. I would never ha
ve guessed a Welsh woman could be so delightful a companion. I thought they were all half-naked barbarians.” Selene did not think it necessary to add that Thomas’s mother had told her that.
“I am glad to see,” Thomas said complacently, “that here as well as at Afoncaer, fairness and a mild hand have pacified the Welsh who live directly under Uncle Guy and Geoffrey. It is only the Welsh who live outside their direct rule, or those who live under less gentle Norman lords, who cause trouble now.”
Thomas had reason to feel pleased, not only with the peaceful Welsh, but with the improving condition of his marriage. Selene had readily agreed to come to Tynant, wanting only to bring Deirdre with her. Meredith had quashed that plan by pointing out how much safer Afoncaer was, and how it might upset Deirdre to be moved from her familiar surroundings. Selene had relented with unusual graciousness. Now that they were at Tynant she was calmer than she had been at Afoncaer. There had been no quarrelling at all and no outburst of temper for these first two days. She had even allowed Thomas to kiss and fondle her at night, though her reluctance to do more was obvious. Not wanting to disturb the new-found peace between them, Thomas had not persisted, hoping she would come to him willingly if he were patient a little longer.
Selene was content enough to be at Tynant. She rather liked Geoffrey’s new mistress. Gwenefer exerted herself to be agreeable to Selene, who recognized what Gwenefer was doing and took it as a compliment. In the afternoons they sat together in the second-floor solar, Selene with her embroidery, Gwenefer spinning wool. Their conversation was light-hearted and easy, yet Gwenefer always made it plain that they were not equals. Selene was a great lady, Gwenefer only a servant, deferring always to one set far above her. They discussed housekeeping concerns whenever Geoffrey’s aging chatelaine Rohaise joined them, turning to more intimate subjects when Rohaise had gone off to kitchen or cellars.
“Doesn’t she resent your presence here?” Selene asked one afternoon when Rohaise had just left them.
“Not at all. We are fast friends, and I am a great help to her. She depends on me.”
“I thought she might disapprove of your friendship with Sir Geoffrey.”
“He is the master here and we are all bound to obey him. Rohaise will never object to anything Geoffrey wants.”
“I have wondered, Gwenefer,” Selene hesitated.
“What is it, my lady? About what do you wonder?” Dark, compelling eyes looked deep into Selene’s.
“I do not condemn you. I understand the situation of a young woman in a household where she is subject to her lord and master’s wishes, and his desires. It is not so very different from my own condition, after all. I know that you share Geoffrey’s bed.”
A peculiar look passed over Gwenefer’s face, then cleared. Her voice was without emotion when she answered. “I do, my lady. What is it you wish to know?”
“You lay with him, yet you are not with child.”
“No. Nor will I be.” There was mockery in Gwenefer’s dark eyes. “I know ways to prevent it.”
“You do?” Selene could not hide her interest. She laid down her embroidery and stared at Gwenefer. “What ways?”
“Do you really want to know, my lady?” Now the mockery had reached Gwenefer’s lilting voice. “Surely you would never use such methods yourself.”
“I recently endured a very difficult birth,” Selene confided. “I don’t want to go through that again. Just for a little while, you understand, until I’ve had time to recover completely. It was so painful.” Selene closed her eyes, remembering the pain, and the blood, and the weakness afterward, and thus she missed the gleam in Gwenefer’s sharp gaze, a flare of triumph, quickly extinguished.
“I can sympathize with your feelings, my lady. But you must understand, the ways of which I know are ancient, and forbidden to outsiders. I doubt if your husband would be pleased if he knew what you are considering. He’s Norman, after all. He must believe you owe him a son and heir as soon as possible.”
“Thomas loves me. He would not begrudge me a little time to recover myself before another child begins.”
“Then tell him what you want, and refuse him your bed. That’s the safest way.”
“I’ve tried that, but he won’t listen to me any more.” Selene’s voice had taken on a desperate note. “He wants to lay with me every night, Gwenefer, and I have no more excuses to make to him. I really don’t want to refuse him. I – I -” She stopped, near tears.
“You want him, too,” Gwenefer said softly. “He touches you, and your blood runs hot, and all you can think of is his body on yours, and the pleasure you give each other, and so you willingly say yes to him, and afterward you hate yourself. And always you live in fear of the future.”
“You do understand,” Selene breathed. “Is it the same for you with Geoffrey?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I never thought it would be, not with a Norman, but it is.”
“Then be my good friend, Gwenefer, and tell me what you do so I may do it, too, and not have to deny Thomas, or myself, any longer.”
“I cannot do that, my lady.”
“Please.” Selene caught at Gwenefer’s hand. “I beg you. It’s so important.”
“I can see it is.”
“I’ll pay you, Gwenefer.”
“No, not money.” Gwenefer relented. “Lady Selene, you have been kind to me. Despite the difference in our rank, we are becoming friends, are we not? I would like to do something for you. I dare not tell you where I obtain the medicine I take, but I’ll give it to you myself, out of my own supply. And I’ll tell no one you have it. You must promise to keep the secret, too.”
“I promise. And I thank you with all my heart. How will I ever repay you?”
“Perhaps some day,” Gwenefer said lightly, “I’ll want to sit on the dais at Afoncaer, and I’ll be refused, but you will say I’m your friend and invite me to sit by you. Or you will help me in some other way. Don’t worry about it now, it’s not important. What we must do is make it possible for you to lay with your husband without fear, and thus keep him happy and devoted to you.”
Selene knew she could trust Gwenefer. This was a woman’s pact, something neither would ever reveal, for the Church had strong teachings about it. Woman’s duty was to bear her husband’s children, that he might have heirs. Selene had heard it whispered that any woman who attempted to avoid that duty would die young. If such a wife had already borne children they, too, would die young, and without heirs, so that, for the wife’s sin, both husband and children would suffer. Knowing this, she had never dared approach Meredith for help. With all her herbal knowledge, Meredith must know of such medications, but Selene thought she could imagine what Meredith’s response would be to any request for them, especially since Meredith felt deeply her own failure to give Guy a son. Meredith would never be able to understand Selene’s revulsion at the thought of enduring another pregnancy and childbirth. How fortunate that Gwenefer could help her. No one else need ever know what she was doing.
Gwenefer brought the medicine to Selene later, in an earthenware vial stoppered with wood, and told her how many drops to take each day.
“Remember your promise,” Gwenefer said. “Speak to no one about this. ‘Tis you who’ll feel your husband’s wrath if he discovers what you are doing. Though I’ve no doubt I’d be punished, too, for helping you. This is a secret between friends.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
That night, when Thomas came to their bed, expecting nothing more than one or two reluctant kisses from Selene, she turned to him with such warmth and tenderness that he was astonished.
“Uncle Guy was right,” Thomas remarked afterward. “He said we would resolve our differences if we were alone at Tynant.”
“Hardly alone,” Selene murmured, reaching for him again. “You spend most of your time with Geoffrey.”
“We have been busy, I’ll admit that,” he whispered into her ear, pausing to nibble at the lobe. “But if you promise to greet me
this way every night, I’ll leave my work with Geoffrey and come early to bed.”
For the next few weeks, Thomas was a happy man. Selene welcomed him into her arms each night. She did her share of household work, and had begun to act more as a nobleman’s wife should. Perhaps, he thought, she had only needed time and patience.
They stayed at Tynant from just after Twelfth Night until mid-April, and by the time Thomas was ready to return to Afoncaer the wooden palisade around the manor was being extended and made higher, a new watchtower was being built, and there were more well-trained men-at-arms to keep Geoffrey’s domain secure. Everyone at the manor was interested in what was being done to protect them from attack, especially Gwenefer, who encouraged both Geoffrey and Thomas to talk freely about their work on the defenses.
Selene and Gwenefer had become close friends in those three months. Or at least Selene thought so, until the day they walked through the meadow beside the stream for which Tynant was named, strolling idly through the pleasant spring afternoon.
“We are returning to Afoncaer the day after tomorrow,” Selene said, not telling Gwenefer anything that resourceful young woman did not already know. “Gwenefer, I will need a goodly supply of our medicine to take with me.”
“What?” laughed Gwenefer. “Are you not ready yet to give your dear husband the son he wants and needs?”
“No! I can’t do it. Not yet, that is. Not for a while. Just a little longer, a few months, a year perhaps. Or two years.”
“So long? That’s a great deal of medicine, Lady Selene. How would you hide so many vials? If I could get them for you, which I cannot.” Gwenefer, quite unconcerned, bent to pick a tiny blue flower and stood sniffing its delicate fragrance.