"Oh!"
It was a little startled cry, half gasp, half groan. Hereford had to stop kissing her, had to stop thinking about her physical being; she was not ready and she was not helping him, but neither that knowledge nor the long experience he had of restraining himself while bringing a woman to the proper pitch made any difference. He knew well he should wait, continuing his caresses until a new tension gripped her, but he could wait no longer.
She cried out and twisted her shoulders as if to get away. "Lie still, Elizabeth," he murmured softly.
Relaxed after the last shudders of his satisfaction had passed, Hereford continued to caress his wife, murmuring endearments. His eyes were closing, but he did not wish to leave her hurt and angry while he slept. She was not crying now, it was true, but for all he could tell she had turned to stone again.
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Are you angry?"
"You have only had your right. Why should I be angry?"
"Elizabeth, do not use that cold tone to me. I did my best to be gentle with you. You are my wife, and I love you. Are you still afraid?"
"No. Oh, Roger, let me be. Do not ask so many questions. Go to sleep."
"I cannot sleep," he replied huskily, "when I think that you are dissatisfied with me or, even worse, when I feel that I have made you unhappy." He sat up. "What have I done wrong? Where have I failed you?"
"Nay, Roger, if there is a failure it is mine." She reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. "I warned you not to take me to wife. I cannot be other than I am. Lie down now and sleep; I am not angry or even much hurt. I only want a little peace to think."
"Think? About what, at such a time?"
"What do you care?" she blazed furiously, touched on the raw. "Do you believe that because you have used me like a sow that I have become one? We have mated, but I can still think."
"Is that how I have used you?" Hereford asked, missing the point completely. He lay down then, flat on his back and stared up fit the draped curtains. "I have sinned much, Elizabeth, and often have I been told of my evil ways, but never before this have I felt so foul."
"No, Roger, no. I did not mean that—it was not— You were very kind, and you used me most gently, I am sure." She turned and put her arms around him, for she knew she had hurt him without purpose. It was not his fault if he could not understand. It was not right to torture Roger because she had made a mistake. She kissed him gently, contritely; it was the first kiss she had ever voluntarily bestowed upon a man not her blood relation.
"Elizabeth," he said softly, after a long pause during which she had almost drawn back, thinking her wordless apology had not been accepted, "I pray you to have a care what you say to me."
"I will so often make you unhappy, Roger. I am cursed with a wicked tongue."
"If it is but your tongue, dear heart, I can bear it." He turned now and looked earnestly into her face. "It is when your heart pours out of your mouth that I—I am distressed."
What he saw in her face must have satisfied him, although Elizabeth felt no different and had no idea what it was, for he sighed and pulled her so that her head rested on his shoulder. Throwing a leg across her, he gave a satisfied grunt and rubbed his cheek on the top of her head. Not two minutes later the change in the rhythm of his breathing told Elizabeth that he was asleep. Across the smooth curve of his pectoral muscles she watched the flames in the hearth. Roger was one of the best, she thought, unconsciously caressing his shoulder and bearing the unaccustomed weight on her thighs with a certain pleasure, but it had been a bad mistake to marry at all.
Pride and vanity had originally driven her to it, together with the physical desire for him which she denied, for Roger was the best catch in the kingdom and she wished to show that the hopeless spinster of twenty-four could win him. Now that she had him, she knew that the satisfaction of pride and vanity were not enough. "Love" gave her no happiness, only a craving that she would not permit Roger to satisfy and, worst of all, she knew her position to be untenable. She could not give a little of herself as she could to her father and retain the rest separate, for herself alone. Either she must give Roger nothing of herself, or give him all.
It was warm and comfortable in the bed, and Roger's even breathing was comforting too. He tightened his arm around her in his sleep. Perhaps it would not be so bad. It was very pleasant to have that breath pass her ear and feel his firm flesh pressed against her. She did not need to decide now, Elizabeth told herself, not realizing that she had decided. Certainly it would be wrong to disturb Roger with personal matters when such great political stakes hung in the balance. Until Henry of Anjou was on the throne of England, she would do her best not to distress her husband. I will just stay as I am, she told herself, and realizing that the sheets were cold snuggled closer to Roger's warmth, putting the seal on the change she had already made.
CHAPTER 6
ELIZABETH, LADY HEREFORD, LOOKED WITH DISTASTE AT THE SHEETS HER mother-in-law was displaying to the assembled guests. She had bled very little, the combination of her very active life and Roger's experienced gentleness and consideration mitigating to a great degree the usual results of defloration. In fact, she had to leave the bed before the few spots which bore witness to her virginity could be found. Elizabeth had not seen Anne although she understood by the chaff that flew back and forth that she had given a better display of her maidenhood or, as Roger protested, laughing, of Rannulf’s clumsiness. He certainly seemed in excellent spirits, capping every remark made with one still more suggestive; however, when the witnesses to the successful marriage night left to allow the married pair to dress, he sobered suddenly and sat down thoughtfully silent.
The men were going out to hunt, for sport not food this time, and Elizabeth had merely drawn on a robe since there was no hurry for her to dress. She was assembling her husband's clothing somewhat awkwardly, not knowing exactly where his things were kept.
"Roger, I cannot find any cross garters except these fine silk ones. Where—"
"Never mind that now, come here."
"What is it?"
He pulled her into his lap.
"Oh, Roger, enough. You will be late."
"There can never be enough," he replied slowly with curving lips although he had not been thinking about that. "You were better pleased with me this morning than last night, were you not?" Elizabeth colored slightly but lifted her chin with an arrogant gesture to which Roger reacted with more laughter. "Nay, no smart answers now. Will you admit that the right man is needful to a headstrong woman?" He put a hand against her mouth to dam the quick, angry retort. "The truth—I have a reason for asking."
"The truth then … yes. But that does not mean—"
'That you will admit that I am right for you." He finished the sentence for her with dancing eyes. "You little viper. You will sting me when I have sweated so to please you. Of all the ungrateful—no, no, you must not strike your husband." Now he had her hands and laughed harder than ever at her frustrated fury. "Gently, my love, I was only teasing you because you are so beautiful when you are angry. But I do have a real reason for speaking. My mother—"
"Hates me, and I am to be good and proper this day to please you.” She snorted. “You have begun well to put me in such a humor. I am fit to please no one, and your mother—"
"Least of all. Stop, Elizabeth. I care nothing what lies between you and my mother. You are both old enough to fight your own battles. So long as you do not draw me into them, you may both do as you please. Let me finish what I am saying and do not put words into my mouth."
"Only you have that privilege, being my lord and master. Well, I—"
He kissed her, damming her lips. "And so will I do each time until you hold your tongue and listen."
"You will have enough of kissing then, for—"
Her words were smothered again, and this time when he let her go she was silent and turned her face away. A
toy, so swiftly had she become just that—a toy. Only a little while past her body had answered to his, just a little, because she could not completely control it, and what she had feared had come to pass. Desperately she strove to stiffen her resistance, but too much had happened too quickly.
"Elizabeth?" Roger was saying, gently, questioningly. "I was only jesting with you because your lips are sweet. Dear heart, what is wrong?"
"Nothing. Say what you would say. I will listen."
"Love, it is funny to make you angry, but you are not angry now. Somehow I have hurt you. That I did not mean."
Of course he did not mean it, she thought. To him it was only natural that all women should be playthings. "Roger, I can bear no more explanations. Whatever you will have of me—take."
He was much disturbed by her depressed passivity and totally without a clue to its cause, but it seemed safest to question her no further. "I have only a small favor to ask of you—you need not trouble yourself with it if you do not wish."
"A favor?" To go to bed again or to cook a special potage, Elizabeth thought bitterly. "What is it?"
"You have seen my youngest sister, Catherine, I know, but have you ever spoken with her?"
"Not much." There was more life in Elizabeth's voice. Certainly this was not what she had expected.
"Do. She is an interesting girl—spoiled, my fault, I suppose, and Walter's too because he dotes upon her. She is bold, headstrong, and—"
"You mean, just like me?"
"Yes, my dearest love, just like you. Quiet—I will kiss you again. If you continue to interrupt me, I will be late for that hunt. I am looking for a husband for Catherine." He explained the choice available and mentioned the question of whether he should seek alliance just now or chance obtaining a greater match by waiting on the outcome of the spring campaign. "My mother will not look to see the girl's preference—if she has any—because she says it does not matter and that Catherine must be pleased with whom I choose. Since she will not, will you do that for me, love?"
"Do you think that is right, Roger? That a girl should make such a choice?" Elizabeth's voice was carefully noncommittal, but she fixed her eyes on her husband's face with a painful intensity. A great part of the future pattern of her own life might hang on his words.
Cheerfully unconscious of the importance of his answer, Hereford wrinkled his brow slightly over her question. He was often troubled to find the proper words even though the ideas were perfectly clear in his head. "Right? What is right? This is not a matter on which the Church or the Law may speak with authority; this is a matter of a person. Every person is different. Look you, Elizabeth, I did not seek to find Anne's preference. I chose Rannulf for her; she never even saw him before he came here for the wedding. That was right for Anne. If I had given her a choice, or she knew that I wished to know her preference, she would have been terrified. Unless he turn into a monster, Anne will be happy with Rannulf—or any other man for that matter. Anne is like unto my mother as two peas in a pod. Catherine is different."
"How different?"
"I do not know, I cannot tell you, but this I know. If Catherine were not pleased she would not weep and pray. No, love, nor like you rage and storm, for though in jest I said she was like you, she is not. You have a light that shines within and shows you the true path. Mayhap there are times," he said, smiling, "that you first cast thorns and boulders in the way and then climb over them, but you do not wander from the road. Catherine—though I love her dearly—like Walter is the sort who would easily bring dishonor on her name."
"Roger! She is not yet fourteen years old. How can you say such a thing of your own sister?"
"Have I not already laced her bloody for fooling with the servant boys?"
"That is a child's trick; it does not point the way of a whole life."
"Did you ever do so?"
Elizabeth thought. "No … but—"
"You see!"
"But Roger, it was because I did not like the way they smelled, not because I thought of right and wrong."
"Ay, but there was something that held you back. With her there is nothing. The teachings of the chaplain she laughs at; my mother's admonition she is deaf to; my whipping she scorns. Only with love can she be led at all, and of late she obeys me because she loves me. What would become of her then if she loved her husband not? Bless us, there is the belling of the hounds and I am still stark naked. Think on it, Elizabeth, and lend an ear to Catherine. My mother is a good woman, but sometimes …"
He did not need to finish that, and Elizabeth was already off his knees gathering clothing. Boar hunting was rough work and called for no use of the bow, nonetheless it was not safe to wear homespun in the woods—thus had his father died, shot by a friend who thought the grayish-brown woolen surcoat was the coat of a deer. Roger wore homespun under his mail, woolen shirt, tunic, and chausses for warmth, but his surcoat was of the most brilliant green dye available.
Buckling on his sword as he went, Hereford started for the door, Elizabeth following. He had it half open when she laid a hand on his arm.
"Roger—"
"Yes?"
"Do not do anything mad."
That stopped him and he turned to look at her. Boars were dangerous animals, it was true, but for Elizabeth to caution him was a strange thing. He kissed her long and gently, then drew back with his eyes already laughing rather than tender.
"I never do anything mad. Did you not know my new role in life is that of the staid and sober counselor? Besides, I am married now and that, I am told, takes the heart out of a man. Elizabeth, do not be so alarmingly wifely or I will tell you to mind your needle instead of— Good Lord, I forgot all about my mother's talking too much. I have cautioned her, but … I must go. Liza, keep your ears open."
He was off, running lightly across the hall in spite of the weight of his armor; Elizabeth closed the door and sighed. Perhaps it would not be too bad. There were compensations. She stood still, leaning back on the door seeing Roger laughing like a boy with head thrown back, Roger's golden hair haloed by candlelight, Roger with blue eyes fixed in the distance, intent, saying that certain things were matters of persons. The noise in the courtyard came up through shuttered windows, and Elizabeth shook herself, stuck her head out of the bedroom door to call her maids, and picked up the thread of daily living.
Hereford, greeting and greeted, made his way through the press of talking, gesticulating men to where his chief huntsman was conferring with his underlings, giving orders to the dog boys, and endeavoring to calm some of the hounds that leapt about him. Some of the beasts remembered Hereford well and turned their passionate attention to him as soon as he appeared. For a few moments he was busy patting familiar heads, calling familiar names, lifting lips to look at gums and teeth, and feeling paws to remark on swollen pads and split nails. Even the vicious alaunts and lymers strained at their leashes at his well-remembered scent, associating him with many a half-gnawed bone kindly thrown, and Hereford slapped at the slavering muzzles affectionately.
He wiped a wet leather glove on his surcoat and clapped his huntsman familiarly on the shoulder. "Well, Herbert, what have you for us?"
"Good sport, my lord, if we do not founder in the mud and soft snow. We have tracked three full-grown boars for a week and driven them slowly closer together. This morning I had word they were gone to earth only a half mile or so from each other. God send they have not come to fight among themselves, but it is not the rutting season yet and my men report no sows nearby."
"Are we ready then?"
"You have but to sound your horn, my lord."
It was not as simple as that, actually, for the organization of such a large hunting party was a complicated affair and many of the participants were presently more interested in talking over past experiences than in starting a new one. At last they were on their way, however, and Hereford found himself riding beside his brother-in-law.
"I trust, Rannulf, that you found everything quite satisfac
tory," he said gravely, concealing behind his open curiosity a real interest in his sister's welfare and a mild amusement at the self-conscious glance Rannulf cast at him when he first pulled up beside him.
The young man cleared his throat in embarrassment. He was actually Hereford's senior by a few years, but totally lacking in the poise and assurance which his brother-in-law had gained through the necessity of being master of his own fate and head of his family. The Earl of Lincoln was not a man who encouraged independent action in his sons, especially not in a younger son. He was suspicious and believed that safety lay in suppression. Too many lenient fathers found their sons their executioners, and Lincoln did not allow his genuine fondness for his male children to blind him to their potential dangerousness; therefore Rannulf, though properly educated, had never been to court and had traveled off his own estates very little. Even when he had visited with his father, the elder man had kept him largely under his own eye, allowing him little opportunity to converse with strangers on his own for fear that he would get ideas. It had taken all Hereford's ingenuity and the yielding of a good part of a fair bride price to induce Lincoln to give the young man a castle of his own to hold.
"You are providing magnificent entertainment, my lord."
Hereford roared and slapped his thighs, startling his mount and Rannulf's and causing the greyhounds running alongside to burst into short, excited barks. "Now that is a perfect reply. What tact! But you must thank my mother for your entertainment. After all, I had little enough to do with Anne's creation."
Rannulf flushed. That was not what he meant and he suspected that Hereford knew it.
"You should call me Hereford, or even Roger if you prefer, Rannulf, you are my brother now. I hope we will come to be truly brothers," he added more soberly.
Knight's Honor Page 15