by Jo Beverley
When the king dispatched Count Guy to see to things, Aimery had a fair idea of how it would go. He just hoped Madeleine realized the futility of delay before the blood began to flow.
What was behind the delay? She’d stated she was going to marry Stephen, and there had been no doubt in her voice. She couldn’t be such a fool as to go back on her word merely because Stephen had romped in the stables with a wench. If it was that easy, Aimery wished he’d taken Aldreda up on one of her offers and called Madeleine in to watch.
He tasted bile at the thought.
Come on. Get it over with.
Count Guy came back and reported to William. The king nodded brusquely and took a drink of wine. She was coming then. It would soon be over.
A sound alerted Aimery, and he turned to see Madeleine walk into the room. She was wearing a cream silk kirtle and a heavier cream silk tunic with a yellow wave pattern worked into the weave. The neck and sleeves were richly embroidered with gold, pearls, and amethysts. An amethyst shone in the heavy gold fillet which encircled her long, silky hair.
She looked like a goddess.
She looked pale and hopeless, like a woman going to her death. But if his father had been forced to beat her to this point, he’d left no obvious mark. She walked over to the king and curtsied low.
“Good morning, Lady Madeleine,” William said coldly. “You have kept us waiting.”
Aimery saw her start as she realized just how angry the king was. “I beg pardon, sire. I was taken by nerves.”
“Let this be a lesson to you, demoiselle, not to seek more responsibility than you can manage.” But the king’s humor was easing in the face of her submissiveness. “Now to your choice. I hope you have considered well the welfare of your people here at Baddersley, and my wishes, too.”
Aimery stiffened. It might sound as if William was yet again pressuring Madeleine to follow his wishes, but there was a tone there which made him uneasy. The king sounded confident. When Madeleine turned to face the three of them, he kept a stern face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stephen smile warmly at her.
She stepped forward like a sleepwalker, her eyes flickering from one to the other. He’d seen a man look like that once. A brigand, caught in the act and fit only for death, he’d stood at bay, wounded and exhausted, looking at three opponents and wondering which would deal the death blow. Aimery had stepped forward and done it quickly to put the man out of his agony.
This, too, went on too long, and he had to fight not to step forward and put an end to it.
“By the Sweet Savior, choose!” bellowed the king.
Madeleine shut her eyes and laid her hand on Aimery’s sleeve.
There was a moment’s silence, then laughter and ironic cheers. Men began to settle wagers. The king strode forward. “At last. We could have come to this point weeks ago without such strain, demoiselle, if you had not been so foolish.” He slapped Aimery hard on the back. “Congratulations. Come and sign the documents.”
Aimery looked at Madeleine in angry astonishment, but she stared away from him, and now was hardly the place to force an explanation. For God’s sake, they’d have a lifetime to settle this! He looked at Stephen and shrugged.
The other man smiled, but there was a twist to it. “Women. There’s no understanding them. At least it’s put William in a sweeter frame of mind.”
And that, thought Aimery, was probably the only positive thing to be said about the whole affair. He walked with Madeleine to the table where the betrothal contracts were laid out. His father was hovering over the documents, and scribes were just now inserting the appropriate details.
He was going to have to marry Madeleine de la Haute Vironge, and there wasn’t a cursed thing he could do about it. Moreover, when she’d made her choice an infuriating surge of joyous lust had hit him. He was hard now. He’d fight it even if he had to take to wearing a hair shirt.
But how did he fight the other danger—his exposure as Golden Hart? Who would reveal the truth? Perhaps Madeleine herself. Did she think to achieve rapid widowhood? That would do her little good, for she’d be forced to wed again immediately. Or did she think to hold her knowledge over his head like an ax? He’d confess to William first.
Even if Madeleine held her tongue, there was the local traitor, who had not yet been uncovered. And if the traitor did not realize the truth, there was danger of exposure by those local people who did. It would take only one careless word. Or a malicious one. Aldreda was turning sour at his refusal to give her a sample of his mature bed-manners.
The clerk began to read out the betrothal contract, but Aimery hardly paid attention. He did note, however, that the documents were drawn up in Norman style. That would give him control over his wife and her land. So be it. If she’d foolishly made this choice because of what he’d said about English law and women’s property rights, she’d soon realize her mistake.
Then he heard the next part of the document and looked at his father in surprise. Count Guy had given him Rolleston, and Aimery was now apparently giving it to Madeleine as her dower property.
“No,” he said instinctively, and everyone looked at him. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting Rolleston into her cruel grasp, but he looked for tact. “That makes little sense. This is Lady Madeleine’s home, and she is familiar with it. Baddersley manor should be her dower.”
The king shrugged. “As you wish. The other properties which come with the barony will be the family estate.” His, in other words. Aimery cast a glance at Madeleine to see her reaction. It was not a switch in her favor, for Baddersley was drained and in chaos while Rolleston prospered. She appeared indifferent.
The clerk continued to read out the property rights of both parties and the provisions made in the event of the death of either party, and for their children, and in the case that there be no children, and in the case of grandchildren . . .
Madeleine hardly heard the clerk’s voice as he read out the long scroll. Property rights did not matter to her. She was marrying a man who hated her.
He suddenly spoke, interrupting the reading, objecting to something. Madeleine realized he was giving her back Baddersley as her own dower property. She looked at him, bewildered, for she had not expected kindness. He did not meet her gaze.
Then it was time to sign. Madeleine’s hands were sticky, but she took the pen and signed. He signed next.
Then all the witnesses, beginning with the king and including as many of the men as cared to add their name and seal. Ample witnesses to testify that all this had been done according to law and custom.
Then, smiling widely, the king took Madeleine’s hand and placed it in Aimery’s. She felt the reluctance of his touch. “Now to the church,” said the king, “and then we can eat at last. My stomach flaps like an empty bag. You need a ring,” he said to Aimery. “You have one to spare.”
Madeleine sensed the tension which leaped into him, and looked at the two rings, the twisted wire one on his left hand and the solid one on his right. Geld? No. These rings were symbols of a union as close as marriage itself. Which was to spare? Why was this matter so important?
She sensed the danger in the air even as Count Guy stepped forward and pulled a ring off his little finger. “This was the ring with which I wed my first wife. I would be honored for it to be used.”
Aimery de Gaillard took it with a breath of relief. “Thank you, Father.” It sounded like the most sincere thing he’d said that day.
Father Cedric was waiting at the church door. His smile turned to a beam when he saw Madeleine’s choice, and he raised his hand to bless them. “In nomine patris, et filiis, et spiritu sancti . . .”
All the king’s train were there to witness the wedding, and many of the castle people also gathered around. Father Cedric went briskly through their declarations of intent and agreement, and pronounced himself satisfied that this was an honest union.
The king took Madeleine’s hand and gave it to Aimery, gave him complete and utter pow
er over her. Aimery slid his father’s ring onto the third finger of her left hand. “With this ring I thee wed,” he said somberly. “With this gold I thee honor, and with this dowry I thee endow.”
“Then you are joined together in the sight of God,” announced Father Cedric joyfully, “and will receive his innumerable blessings. Aimery, be forever gentle to your wife and support her in all her endeavors. Madeleine, be forever gentle to your husband and support him in all his endeavors.”
Even treason? thought Madeleine. I most certainly will not. She made a promise of her own. Aimery de Gaillard will give up his work for the English or I will expose him to the king.
Father Cedric blessed them again in the name of the trinity, the Virgin, and all the saints.
The priest turned to lead them into the chapel, but the king interrupted. “Kneel to your husband, Lady Madeleine,” he said, “as custom dictates. You are inclined to be bold. Kneel and kiss Lord Aimery’s hand, the hand that will chastise you if you err.” He was clearly still annoyed with her.
If only you knew, sire, Madeleine thought, that you are commanding me to do homage to a traitor. But she obeyed and knelt to kiss the fingers of her husband’s right hand, which was all that protruded from the bandage there.
Throughout the Mass, she prayed for the strength to make something of her marriage and turn her husband from treason.
Afterward, they processed back to the hall among cheers. Madeleine tried to smile, but it doubtless was not much of a show. Aimery did not even try. Oh, Sweet Jesu, she wondered helplessly, what would happen tonight when they were alone together? Had he not promised to make her life a misery if she chose him?
Then she remembered she had a weapon. She held his life in her hands.
The meal at least was splendid—a feast, not a breakfast. She had not done anything to forward it since the afternoon before, but the Baddersley servants had proved their mettle and produced tender meat, fine sweet-dishes, and plenty for all. A bullock was roasting out in the bailey for all the local people.
Aimery and Madeleine sat in pride of place, even the king taking a lower seat. They sat in silence. Count Guy leaned sideways and said to Aimery, “Talk to her. You must be able to think of something to say.”
“Many things. They will wait until later.”
Madeleine lost what little appetite she had.
As the meal began to wind down, the king turned to Madeleine. “Perhaps you do not understand the situation, Lady Madeleine. I and my entourage must leave shortly, but we would see this matter finished. I believe the solar has been freshened for you.”
Madeleine started. “Now?”
“Now,” he said. “Go along. It won’t take long, and we’ll believe your word before all that it is done.”
Madeleine stood dazedly, and the king added, “And don’t forget to tend his hand.”
At this descent to the mundane, Madeleine laughed, a little laugh which sounded desperate even to her own ears.
The king sighed. “I don’t know why there’s such a fuss over this sort of thing. Aimery, take her, for God’s sake, and get the marriage completed. I need to be on my way. I’m leaving you here to see to this place so you’ll have all the time you need for dalliance. You’re no use as a fighter anyway for a week or so, according to your wife.”
Aimery stood and held out his hand. Rather than be dragged to her marriage bed, Madeleine allowed him to lead her to the solar.
Chapter 12
The room looked very bare. The king’s possessions had already been carried out, and anything Paul and Celia had considered their own had gone with them. There were two chests, a desk, and the bed, its clean sheets folded back.
She heard the door latch fall and turned, to be grabbed by his strong left hand. “I have no intention of choosing you. I am going to marry Stephen,” he quoted bitterly. “Can you remember that, Madeleine de la Haute Vironge?”
“I remember many things perfectly,” she snapped, struggling. “Let go of me!”
“Aren’t you the sweet, dutiful wife?” he sneered, tightening his grip. Madeleine balled her fist and hammered his wounded hand. He winced but didn’t release her. “That’s been tried before, too.” He dragged her across the room and threw her on the bed.
Madeleine scrambled off the other side. “Don’t touch me!”
He stood, leaning against a bedpost. “What exactly did you expect when you picked a husband? Saintly King Edward? There aren’t many men who are willing to embrace celibacy in marriage, and anyway we have an impatient and irritable king awaiting news of your loss of virginity.”
“We can tell them it’s done,” she said desperately.
“Lie?” he queried. “That’s your way, isn’t it? It isn’t mine. Get on the bed or we’ll do it on the floor.”
Madeleine took a deep breath. “Touch me, Aimery de Gaillard, and I’ll tell the king you’re Golden Hart.”
She saw it hit him, but he recovered. “Madness must run in the family. Golden Hart is even now in Warwickshire.”
“Clever,” she acknowledged, watching him carefully. “Is it luck that others are borrowing your name or have you sent people to create just such a smoke screen?”
He appeared to be relaxed, but she could sense the tension in him. “What makes you think I’m a Saxon rebel? I’m a Norman knight.”
“Golden Hart speaks French.”
“So do many Englishmen. And,” he added with an unpleasant smile, “how do you know how Golden Hart speaks?”
“You know perfectly well that we met! And just after the last time, my aunt went completely mad and made my life a misery. At your instigation!”
“Knowing you, I doubt she needed encouragement. The king’s going to be interested to hear you’ve been meeting a rebel in the woods.”
Madeleine gasped. “Meeting you!”
“Did I fuck you then?” he asked with malignant curiosity.
“I am a virgin,” she retorted through gritted teeth.
His false smile was wiped away. “Then we’d better do something about it before the king comes in and holds us together like a couple of recalcitrant farm animals.”
Madeleine realized with horror that she’d thrown her mightiest weapon and achieved nothing. “I mean it,” she said desperately. “I’ll tell the king.”
“I’ll be interested to see his reaction.” Lightning-fast, he threw himself on the bed, rolled over, and then back. Madeleine found herself snared under him. She struggled but was utterly, terrifyingly helpless.
He had rescued her from Odo, but there was no one to rescue her now. Even if she screamed, all those men in the hall would laugh. She saw the fury in his eyes and frightened misery rippled through her. “Please don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t rape me.”
“A man can’t rape his wife, Lady Madeleine.” After a moment he sighed. “I feel very inclined to beat you, but I have no taste for rape. Can we be gentle about this?”
Defeated, she swallowed and nodded.
“Good.” Warily, he rolled off her. “Take off your outer clothing.”
Madeleine sat up and obeyed with trembling hands. Her teeth were chattering, and she didn’t dare look at him. She removed her tunic, then her kirtle, leaving her fine linen shift her only cover. “Should I take th-this off, too?”
“You’ll probably feel better with something on in bright daylight,” he said prosaically.
At that calm tone she dared a look. He no longer seemed angry, but neither was he as calm as he sounded. There was a darkness in his eyes which reminded her of the way Edwald had looked at her that day by the stream. And he was Edwald. Immediately her body recalled the way he’d made her feel that day, and a flicker of hope stirred in her.
“Lie down again.” His voice was a little hoarse.
She obeyed, and he sat beside her. He put a hand on her hip and stroked up until it rested on her breast. She caught her breath. He began to rub her nipple through the cloth. It was a mechanical act, yet similar to
his actions when he’d desired her.
She looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“It’ll be easier for you if you’re prepared. Relax.”
Which was hard when he eased her shift down a little and put his mouth to her other breast. She remembered Sister Bridget. And to think they’d all laughed at her.
Was he sucking milk that was driving him wild? The process was doing strange things to her. She was breathing high and fast, and her body had a need to move on its own, for no earthly reason.
While he suckled her, his left hand slid under her kirtle to stroke her thigh. It was such a gentle touch that her fear and wariness began to melt. Then his hand moved to her private place, and she tensed. Even she was not supposed to touch there except to wash. But then she remembered a husband was allowed liberties. A husband was allowed anything. When he pushed her thighs open she swallowed, but didn’t resist. She just lay there looking at the wood of the ceiling, face aflame, willing the magic to come and kill thought.
A finger slid to a special place which ached in a manner she remembered. She caught her breath. “How strange,” she said with a giggle, “that what was a sin is now a duty.”
He made no response. He did not echo her humor.
Madeleine closed her eyes and pulled her mind away from what he was doing. She deliberately recalled better times. That day with the faery prince—the soft voice murmuring, the gentle hand stroking, the brush of warm lips across her nape. The same golden path of warm delight opening before her.
The time with Edwald. His hungry hands and mouth. The fiery need which had been left painfully unfulfilled. Her body surged against his exploring hand.
“Good,” he said flatly. “You’re wet. You’re very responsive. If I find after all this that you’re not a virgin, I will beat you, and for any number of reasons.”
His brusque tone shattered the magic. Madeleine’s eyes flew open and she tensed with rejection even as he moved on top of her. He gave a sigh of exasperation and put his mouth to her breast again, rolled slightly away, and brought his hand between her thighs, rubbing gently.