Nunnery Brides

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Grier was well into the raisin and apple pudding by then. She didn’t even notice that Dane had removed her drink. As he sat there and watched her, wondering what all of that ale was going to do to her, Charlisa struck up a conversation.

  “The men like you already, my lady,” she said to Grier. “That is a very good sign. Your days will be those of joy here, I am certain.”

  Grier looked at Charlisa, wondering why the room tipped sideways as she moved. “Do you think so?” she asked. “I hope so. I did not wish to come, you know. I wanted to stay at the abbey. But I think I shall like it here.”

  Charlisa grinned. “You will,” she said. “I like it here very much. I have since Dastan and I were married, but I have been lonely for want of a lady friend. That is why I was so excited for you to come. I do hope we can be friends.”

  Grier smiled at her, a rather open gesture as the ale began to fuel her actions. “Of course we can,” she said. “You have been very kind to me already. You remind me of my friend, Eolande.”

  “Who is that? Is she another nun?”

  Grier both nodded and shook her head at the same time, which threw her off balance. “She is not a nun,” she said as she gripped the table to keep from falling. “She is an oblate. Do you know what that is? It means that her parents gave her over to the abbey with the intention that she should take the veil. That is what I was, you know – an oblate. Now, I am a wife, but I do not feel like a wife.”

  Charlisa looked concerned. “Why not?”

  Grier leaned in to her as if to tell her a secret. “Because I have not been stabbed yet.”

  Charlisa had no idea what she was talking about. “Stabbed? By what?”

  Grier’s reactions were those of a drunkard by this point. The ale had flooded her veins and was beginning to do its damage. She looked at Charlisa in surprise, but it was in an odd, exaggerated gesture.

  “You know,” she insisted. “A man’s fleshy sword. I do not think my husband is very pleased with me, because he has not stabbed me with it yet.”

  Over her shoulder, Dane had been listening to the conversation and when she said that, he spit out the ale that he’d just put in his mouth. It went spraying out onto the table, enough so that both Grier and Charlisa turned to him in concern. Grier knew immediately that it had been because of her, that she had said something wrong.

  “I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I do not know why I said such a thing. But… but it is true. Euphemia says that men and women make a child when his stabs her with his fleshy sword!”

  Dane’s eyes widened and it took every bit of self-control he had not to burst out laughing. He didn’t think it would be well-met. But he could quickly see one thing; the ale had gone straight to Grier’s head and she was, in fact, quite tipsy. He could see it in everything about her, and much more quickly than he would have expected. It would probably only grow worse, so he thought it might be a good idea to remove her from the feast immediately. God only knew what else she would say now that the alcohol had loosened her tongue.

  He didn’t want to wait around and find out.

  “It is time for us to retire,” he said, standing up and reaching out to pull Grier from her seat. “Lady du Reims, you will excuse us.”

  Charlisa had a wide-eyed, shocked look as Dane pulled Grier to her feet. She simply nodded as Dane took his wife and led her away from the table, to the edges of the room where he could slip her from the hall through the servant’s entrance. He knew if he took her to the entry doors that there were hundreds of men who would see them, and quite possibly stop them for more drinking, and he didn’t think it would be good for her to engage in any manner of conversation or drinking right now. At least, not with anyone other than her husband and his fleshy sword…

  Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he managed to remove Grier through the servant’s entrance, out into the cold night beyond.

  “You are displeased with me,” Grier said, hiccupping as she tripped over her too-long hemline. “I am very sorry. I do not know why I said that.”

  Dane had her by the arm, holding fast so she wouldn’t fall. “I am not displeased,” he said. “But you have had too much to drink and it would be better if we retire for the night.”

  Grier frowned. Then, her eyes filled with a pool of tears. “That… that ale,” she said, unhappy. “I did not want to be rude. Do you not understand? I had to drink it.”

  Dane put his left arm around her slender shoulders, holding on to her right arm with his right hand to brace her up because she was weaving all over the place.

  “I know you did,” he said. “It was very accommodating of you. It made the men happy.”

  She sniffled as she looked up at him. “Did it?” she said. “Do you think they will like me?”

  “I am sure they will.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why have you not stabbed me with your fleshy sword?”

  Dane could hardly hold back the smile. It was becoming more and more difficult. “Because I did not feel as if last night would have been the best time to do it,” he said. “Do you even know what you are asking, Grier?”

  She nodded, but that threw her off balance terribly, so he bent down and swept her into his arms. Grier yelped, throwing her arms around his neck, and quickly realized that their heads were very close now. She found herself looking at his stubbled jaw and the shape of his lips. That reminded her of something else that Euphemia has said.

  Has yer husband kissed ye?

  “Is a husband not expected to kiss a wife?” she asked.

  Dane eyed her as they neared the keep entry. “Of course he is.”

  “Then why have you not kissed me, either?”

  Dane couldn’t help the grin then, but it was a weak one. He wasn’t sure he could explain all of this to her in a way she would understand given her drunken state. Therefore, he simply tried to placate her.

  “I will,” he said. “You needn’t worry about that.”

  “But when?”

  “Will you at least let me do it in private? When I return you to our chamber?”

  Grier didn’t have anything to say to that. She was still contemplating everything Euphemia had told her but in her drunken state, it was all rather confusing.

  “You will kiss me in private first,” she said, “and then stab me with your fleshy sword?”

  He was carrying her up the mural stairs to the floor above with little effort. “Who told you about a fleshy sword?”

  “Euphemia.”

  He grunted, perhaps in disapproval. “I see,” he said. “You should not repeat that, Grier.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it is something only whores call a man’s member. It is not something fine ladies speak of.”

  Her eyes widened. “Euphemia is a whore?”

  Dane didn’t know, but he didn’t want to speculate. “It does not matter if she is or not,” he said. “But what you are speaking of is not something fine ladies mention. Do you understand?”

  Perhaps she did, perhaps she didn’t. There was really no way to tell. They arrived at the big master’s chamber and Dane kicked the door open, charging into the room.

  Euphemia was on her knees in front of the hearth, stirring a small pot that was brewing over the gentle fire. When she saw Grier aloft in Dane’s arms, she lurched to her feet, her eyes wide.

  “What is it, my lord?” she cried. “What has happened to the lady?”

  All Dane could think of when he looked at her was fleshy sword. Because she is drunk and speaking with your whore’s tongue for all to hear! It was a struggle not to scold her for it.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Get out.”

  Euphemia fled. As the door slammed behind her, Dane put Grier upon the mattress and, leaving her there, went to bolt the door. By the time he returned, Grier was trying to slither off of the bed.

  “Where are you going?” Dane asked. “It is time for you to sleep.”

&nb
sp; She was still moving off of the bed. “But I cannot sleep in this dress,” she said. “It will ruin it. Can you help me remove it?”

  That was perhaps the best invitation Dane had in a very long while. He could have easily called for Euphemia for help but, somehow, he didn’t want to. Besides, he’d just kicked her out of the chamber. Grier was his wife and, perhaps, this was the best time of all to get to know her on a more intimate level.

  He couldn’t think of a better opportunity.

  This was the first time he’d had a wife, after all.

  Unlike his older brother, Trenton, who had been married four times, Dane had never been married once. It wasn’t because he hadn’t met women he might have taken as a wife; he’d met a few. He’d even had a couple that he’d called on, but none that he’d seriously courted. He’d spent his life living as a knight, and that meant he ate, slept, and breathed warfare. He had been the captain of the Duke of Warminster’s army for several years until his appointment to Blackmore Castle, which still belonged to him, only now it was part of his Shrewsbury properties.

  His ambition and dedication to duty had prevented him from taking a wife, and he’d only married Grier because he’d been given no choice. Had he not been forced to do it, he’d probably still be a bachelor knight. True, the marriage to Grier had been unwanted but, as the days passed, he was coming to think it wasn’t unwanted any longer. He rather liked having a beautiful young woman he could call his own.

  He liked it a great deal.

  Therefore, Grier’s request for him to help her undress was met by an inclination to do it on his part. Grier belonged to him, and she was horribly naïve, so it was up to him to indoctrinate her into the world of men and women.

  Of man and wife.

  He was ready.

  “Aye, I’ll help you,” he said after a moment, pulling her all the way off the bed and turning her away from him. He inspected it, looking for the obvious way to get her out of it. “How did Euphemia get you into this bloody dress?”

  Grier lifted up her arms. “Something on the side,” she said. “Do you see the fastens?”

  He did. Quickly, he unfastened the ties and the dress loosened up dramatically, but when Grier tried to pull it over her head, she ended up pitching forward onto the bed, tangled up in the green silk. Dane had to unravel her from her garment and pull it the rest of the way over her head as Grier sat up on the bed and smoothed at her mussed hair.

  “You saved me, my lord,” she said, puffing out her cheeks. “I thought I was doomed.”

  He grinned as he tossed the dress over a chair. “I am good for many things,” he said. “Saving women from their murderous garments is one of them.”

  Grier continued to smooth her hair back. “Have you saved many, then?”

  He shook his head. “Actually, you are my first.”

  Grier wanted to look up at him but tipping her head back made her feel as if she wanted to fall over, so she kept her head level. “As you are my first,” she murmured. “Husband, I mean. God’s Bones, I never thought I would say those words. May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “You introduced me earlier as Lady of the Trinity Castles,” she said. “I have not heard that title before.”

  He smiled faintly. “The Trinity Castles are a very old de Lara lordship,” he said. “It goes back more than three hundred years, according to your father. He told me about them, once, in one of the many conversations we had before his death. The Trinity Castles are Hyssington, Trelystan, and Caradoc Castles along the Welsh Marches. That was the original de Lara holding. Shrewsbury came later.”

  Her mouth formed an “O” shape as she understood what he meant. “I do remember hearing those names when I was younger,” she said. “I’d forgotten until you mentioned them.”

  “I will take you with me when I go to visit them. I’ve not seen them yet.”

  Grier was touched by the fact that he would think enough of her to take her with him when he went to visit the rest of his holdings. He was treating her like she were truly a part of all of this, which she was.

  “I would be happy to go with you,” she said, pausing a moment before continuing. “Truthfully, part of me wonders if this is all a dream and I shall soon wake from it, sleeping on the cold earth next to Eolande.”

  “Eolande? Who is that?”

  “She was my friend at St. Idloes. We have been friends since we were small.”

  Eolande. That reminded Dane of what he’d heard in Welshpool, about the Welsh warlord who had asked for Grier’s hand. The man had a sister at St. Idloes, which is how he knew about Grier. Dane wondered if this Eolande was that sister, but he didn’t ask. Now was not the time, with her head swimming with drink.

  Besides, none of it really mattered; even if Davies ap Madoc had offered for Grier’s hand, Dane had been the one to actually marry her. He’d gotten the prize. But in the same breath, he wondered if Grier had wanted to marry ap Madoc. Had she been fond of the Welshman who had offered for her? That question didn’t settle so well with him. The thought of Grier being fond of another man made him feel tight inside, as if something was wrong with his belly.

  Nay, he didn’t like that thought in the least.

  “I see,” he said belatedly, his thoughts lingering on Eolande and Davies, and Grier’s affection for one or both. “To answer your speculation, this is no dream, I promise. You are my wife, and you are the Duchess of Shrewsbury. In the days to come, you will grow accustomed to that.”

  Grier dared to look up at the man, as he was standing over her, but the gesture caused her to tip right back onto the bed.

  “I cannot sit up straight,” she said sadly. “Forgive me for being so foolish, my lord. I am very sorry.”

  “Dane. You promised to call me Dane in private. A few times you have addressed me formally and I have ignored it, but in our bedchamber, I will not ignore it. Say my name.”

  A smile spread across her lips with unnatural speed. “Dane.”

  He laughed softly as she murmured it in her low, sweet voice. “Good,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you knew it.”

  “I do, indeed, know it.”

  He looked at her, lying flat on her back on the bed, and he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was. By the light of the fire and the few candles that were burning about the room, she had an angelic glow about her. She was clad only in a fine shift and as she lay there, he could see the outline of her breasts and hips.

  His thoughts turned to pleasures of the flesh.

  Drunk or not, she was his wife. He hadn’t consummated the marriage the night before because, given her state at the time, it simply wouldn’t have been a good situation for either of them. It was his right, and he knew it, but he wasn’t so demanding or selfish that he was going to demand his husbandly rights regardless of her physical condition. But tonight… tonight, things were different.

  It was time to get down to business.

  Reaching down, he pulled her up into a sitting position.

  “Can you remove your shift yourself or do you need help?” he asked.

  A little woozy, Grier looked down at the fine garment she was wearing. “I can remove it, I think.”

  Dane nodded. “Good,” he said. “Remove it and get into bed.”

  She blinked as if she didn’t quite understand the order. “Why?”

  “Do you want your husband to kiss you?”

  That was all she needed to hear. Staggering up from the bed, she fumbled with the shift as Dane moved towards the hearth and turned his back. He gave her some privacy, pretending to stoke the fire as he listened to the sounds of a struggle behind him. Something hit the floor. He thought it might have been her and he turned slightly to see that she was getting to her feet from a position on her knees.

  Dane had to smile at the woman’s inebriation. Perhaps, he should wait and consummate the marriage when she wasn’t so tipsy. But he thought that, perhaps, it was a good thing she was a little dru
nk. Perhaps, she wouldn’t be so fearful about it; she certainly didn’t seem fearful. He wanted her to be relaxed, so this was as good an opportunity as any.

  A few minutes passed and he could hear the bed give as she climbed into it. Taking that as his cue, he realized that his stomach was twitching with anticipation as he approached the bed. As he moved, he blew out one of the iron candle sconces as he walked by; melted tallow dripped from the iron onto the floor, creating big white splotches.

  Dane’s gaze remained on the bed, where Grier was now laying, the heavy coverlet pulled up to her neck. But as he looked at her, he also noticed the table next to her side of the bed where the marriage brooch he’d given her had been placed. She’d worn it almost constantly since he’d give it to her.

  A modest wife knows a chaste bed.

  They were finally coming to the meat of that statement. Smiling at Grier’s anxious face, he sat down on the bed to remove his boots.

  “If you have any questions about what we are about to do, I would be happy to answer them,” he said. “Or did Euphemia tell you everything already?”

  He had a smirk on his face, one that Grier could see in the darkness. “How do you know she told me anything?”

  “You said she told you about the fleshy sword. I will assume she told you everything.”

  Grier seemed a bit sheepish. “I… I did not wish to seem too ignorant.”

  “You have spent your life in a convent. You are supposed to be ignorant.”

  “Are you angry that I asked Euphemia about the ways of men and women?”

  He shook his head, tossing his boots against the wall. He went to work on unfastening his breeches.

  “Of course not,” he said. “And you should have a woman to talk to, which is why I allowed Euphemia to accompany you to Shrewsbury. But you can talk to Charlisa, too. She might be a better source of information when it comes to how to please a husband. And you can always ask me. I will tell you the truth.”