Tears came to her eyes. “Nay, she would not. She would feel as you do and be ashamed—”
“Hush! Sweet, Jesu, what have I done to you? Never think I am not proud of you, Mili. Verily, you are the one who is so like your mother in nigh every way. She was as stubborn, she was as willful, she was as fiery, and I loved her for all of that, not despite of it. There are women born to be different, though not all realize it or try to be. You and your mother were not meant to be as others are. Young Wulfric will appreciate that, once he gets used to it. I know I would not have had your mother be any other way.”
It was wonderful to hear him say it, yet she didn’t believe him—not completely anyway. How could she when she had all the times he had railed at her and bemoaned her behavior to recall, as well as the times he had specifically mentioned her shaming him? And yet…
“If you felt I was born to be different, as she was, then why did you try to curb my independence?”
He sighed. “When you were younger, Mili, you needed to see the difference, be made aware of it. You needed to understand that there would be others of less tolerance who would not accept the path you choose for yourself, and to save yourself grief, you should have learned to adapt to such circumstances. Your mother did know when to give in gracefully, and likewise, she also knew when she did not need to. I had hoped to teach you that lesson at least, but…”
He didn’t finish, looked uncomfortable. She smiled. “But I failed to learn it.”
“’Tis not that you failed, you just—refused. You have a strong desire to do things you know you are capable of doing, yet are some of those things not appropriate for you to be doing. You choose to do them anyway, and bedamn any opinion to the contrary.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“Nay, not at all. What is wrong is the ‘bedamn’ part, and not accepting that some things are just so unnatural for you in particular to do that they require compromise, or at least restraint. Did you know that I sew?”
She blinked, then after a moment, chuckled. “Was that a trick?”
“Nay, I do sew, Mili. I find it relaxing. I love doing it. And even with these old, gnarled hands, I can turn a finer stitch than some women.”
She blinked again. “You are not jesting?”
He shook his head. “I made many of your mother’s clothes, though no one knew it besides us. I did it in the privacy of our chamber. I never would have considered sewing in the Great Hall where anyone could have seen me at it. Why? For the same reason that you just laughed. ‘Tis not something you would expect to see an old warrior doing—unless he had no one else to do it for him, which certainly is not the case for me, and even then he would only repair his own raiments, not make clothes for women. ‘Twould cause snide comments and snickering, likely make of him a laughingstock.”
Milisant nodded, aware of how hypocritical she had just been, or rather, self-centered. She had always railed at the unfairness of it, that she couldn’t do all that she wanted to do, because much of what she wanted to do was in the strictly male domain, not to be breached by a lowly, incompetent female. She had never thought that a man might find himself faced with the same restrictions.
“‘Tis just horrid,” she remarked, with years worth of resentment in her tone, “that we must change and make compromises because no one else is willing to accept that some people are different. You do not resent that you must hide to do something you enjoy doing?”
“Nay, it does not lessen the enjoyment, that I sew in private, it merely avoids the ridicule. And I know that what you enjoy doing is not so easily concealed. I was not trying to show you that our difficulties are similar, just somewhat the same. But that is where compromises come into play. If you could just accept that what you like doing could be done some of the time, just not all of the time, I think you would be much happier, Mili.”
“I think I have finally come to see this, ironically, by witnessing another girl similar to myself make such compromises and yet still enjoy certain—restricted—freedoms. And since coming here, I have not really minded so much, the wearing of these cumbersome bliauts. Verily, ‘tis that I don’t want to see the lady Anne’s frowns over my garb that I readily give it up—for now. I have become quite fond of her, and don’t want to disappoint her.”
He gave her a brilliant smile. “You cannot imagine how I have longed to hear you—”
“Faugh, I did not say I was completely reformed,” she cut in with a grumble.
He chuckled. She gave in and smiled back, grateful that for a short time he had taken her mind off of tomorrow—and the joining.
Forty-five
Thone had personally made Milisant’s raiments for the wedding, allowing no one else to aid her. The result was a grand, beautiful bliaut of jade velvet worthy of a queen, richly detailed, encrusted with gems and thickly embroidered with gold thread. Along with the matching mantle, gold satin undertunic, and heavy gold-linked girdle, the whole ensemble likely weighed as much as Milisant did, which was why she was not looking forward to wearing it. However, she would never tell that to her sister, who had put much loving care into its creation.
But then another gown arrived that morning, just before Anne’s ladies presented themselves to help with the formal dressing. It was wrapped in lace ribbons, sitting on a tasseled satin pillow, delivered by a young, turbaned page with a cheeky grin.
He said merely, “A gift from yer papa.”
When she unwrapped it, a bliaut of silver was revealed, of a strange glimmering material Milisant knew to have been in her father’s treasure trove from the Holy Land, for she had been fascinated, having discovered it there as a child. Soft as silk, light as down, it sparkled in the morning light. No other embellishment was needed on a material that unusually beautiful, yet two rows of tiny seed pearls did adorn the neckline. The undertunic was a pristine white silk with silver thread that made it sparkle as well.
Jhone, of course, was disappointed, staring at the two gowns laid out side by side over their bed. “I cannot imagine why Papa would have this made for you, when he should have known I would not let you appear at your wedding in leggings. And ‘tis too thin to wear for winter.”
“Not with an appropriate, thick mantle,” Milisant pointed out, then whispered a bit in awe, “Do not laugh, but I think Papa made it himself.”
Jhone looked at her askance and said merely, “I did not hear you aright.”
“You did. I said nigh the same thing to him last eventide when he told me he enjoys sewing. He admitted he even used to make clothes for our mother.”
“Now I know you are jesting,” Jhone retorted. “I am glad that your nervousness has abated long enough for you to make light of this, but—”
“Look at me,” Milisant cut in. “Do I look like I am jesting? And I really do think he made this gown. Look at the stitching. Who do you know at Dunburh who can ply a needle this fine—other than yourself, of course? For that matter, who do you know whom he would trust to work with this particular cloth, which has been in his keeping all these years since his return from the Crusades—again, other than you?”
Jhone picked up an edge of the silver cloth to examine it more closely. “No one, at least at Dunburh. But then he could have found someone outside of Dunburh to make it. Not that it matters. You still must wear his gift, because he gave it.”
Milisant chuckled. “You have been taking stubbornness lessons from me, eh? ‘Tis not as if I will not have plenty of opportunities to wear the one you made me. These de Thorpes entertain royalty, after all.”
Jhone was appeased somewhat and poked her in the ribs with a bit of teasing. “I still think you will freeze on the way to the village church.”
Milisant smiled in amusement. “Nay, you would not allow that. I trust you will force on me the very heaviest of your cloaks.”
Jhone nodded. “Aye, and I know just the one that will match perfectly, the double-sided white velvet one trimmed in silver fox.”
It was another brief i
nterlude of distraction for which Milisant was grateful, for too quickly her nervousness returned in full measure, and too quickly she was dressed and on her way to the church. And much too quickly, she was joined to Wulfric de Thorpe.
She would remember very little about this day, so deep was the daze of her anxiety. It was the culmination of everything she had dreaded, and that dread was full upon her. The slow procession to the church, the long mass, the priest’s intonements, none of that could be recalled with any clarity. Even the celebration that followed in the Great Hall and lasted the rest of the day was no more than a haze of loud revelry enjoyed by all—except her.
The painfully embarrassing bedding ceremony, in which she must be presented to the groom—and anyone else who managed to crowd into the room—for the supposed search for hidden imperfections that could, if desired, allow repudiation, must have elicited none, since she had been left alone with the groom. Her only consolation to having missed most of her wedding was that she had missed that as well.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?” Wulfric asked her.
It was the first thing that Milisant actually heard clearly, after hearing naught but indistinguishable babble all day. “Not that I recall.”
“Actually, I was jesting, since I must have told you at least a half dozen times,” Wulfric said, then, “You really do not recall?”
“Certainly, I was jesting as well,” she lied, and had to wonder what else had been said to her in the last hours that she had no memory of.
She realized she was a bit intoxicated, though she did not remember drinking any wine. But despite the relaxing benefit of the wine, it was still disconcerting to become suddenly aware that nigh the entire day had passed as if she had not been there. To find herself in bed with a husband, both of them completely naked. To wonder—Jesu, had she missed the bedding as well? Was it over? And finally, to wish that she could go back to being—not there.
“Have we—finished here?” she asked.
He laughed. She scowled. It had been a reasonable question, she thought.
“I find I want to wait until your mind is cleared of the wine haze, but I find also that I cannot wait any longer, when it does seem like I have already waited forever. A fine dilemma, wouldst you not agree?”
“Nay, seems easily decided to me,” she said with an emphatic nod. “You wait.”
He chuckled. She scowled again. What did he find so amusing?
Unfortunately, with her awareness returned, so, too, were her feelings for him fully remembered, including her most recent rage over that incident with the whore. She almost scrambled from the bed, she was suddenly so furious again, would have if, in doing so, she would not have lost the sheet that presently covered them both.
It was impossible for him not to notice the change in her, which prompted a sigh and, “What now?”
He was not going to know that she couldn’t stand it, the thought of him touching that woman, or any other woman for that matter, so she said merely, if quite rudely, “Did you clean yourself thoroughly after bedding that whore?”
His new expression said she had baffled him completely. “What whore?”
“There have been that many for you not to remember?” she fairly growled, then, “The one you left the hall with the other day.”
He stared at her blankly for an extended moment, but then he burst out laughing. “You thought I bedded her?” He laughed yet again.
Milisant had no trouble understanding his humor this time. As Jhone had warned her might be the case, she had apparently jumped to the wrong conclusion that day, and he found that hilarious.
Despite her embarrassment, she still asked, “Then why did you leave with her?”
“Mayhap to find out who she was and why she was working in the hall that day, particularly in readying the tables for the meal, when she was not a Shefford servant and thus had no business being there.”
“She came not with one of the guests?”
“Nay, and she gave my mother an excuse which she doubted, which was why she had asked me to question her, Milisant. She was worried that the woman was there to cause mischief, or more to the point, serious harm—to you.”
Jesu, his reason had to involve her? But she was forgetting one other matter.
“‘Twas necessary for you to put your arm around her to find that out?”
He shrugged. “I felt her unease as I was taking her from the hall. I wanted to make sure she did not bolt from me. Alas, she did just that as soon as we reached the crowded bailey, nor was she found again. That she ran proves she was up to no good, so ‘tis unlikely she will try again, now we are aware of that, and I have men watching for her.”
“How did she manage to enter the castle if she is not of Shefford, nor came with the guests?”
“She had claimed to be a cousin of one of the villeins. He had agreed to say she was a relative in return for her favors, but he had had no intention of supporting the lie, other than with his neighbors. When I put the question to him, he immediately admitted the truth.”
She had no further questions herself to ask on the matter, just the embarrassment remaining, of accusing him of something he had not done. She ought to apologize, was about to, but he had more to say.
“I will allow you your fits and rages, but not here,” he told her.
“Fits?” she sputtered.
“Whatever you wish to call your unreasonable temper. You will not bring it to our bed. Here you will have only good feelings, and think only of pleasing me. I will likewise think only of the pleasure I want to visit on you in full measure. Can you agree to that? And keep in mind ere you answer that I could forbid you your anger at any time.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “You cannot control another’s anger.”
“True, but I can make it very unpleasant for you to reveal yours.”
The conclusion that statement prompted had her retorting, “You think to beat it out of me?”
“Nay, but a time spent in the solar every time you raise your voice in anger—I think eventually you will be very soft-spoken and wear naught but smiles. Actually, ‘tis not a bad idea.”
He sounded like he was teasing, he really did, yet Jesu, he was talking about locking her up, and often. She could not take the chance.
“I agree,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said I agree to your terms!” she snapped.
“Hmm, when do you intend to start then?”
She blushed. She closed her eyes against his smile. She was still amusing him, apparently, while she had to make unreasonable compromises. It was so blasted unfair. Not even wed a full day, yet already he was asserting his new power over her.
Forty-six
When Milisant’s silence continued and her eyes stayed closed, Wulfric’s finger came to her brow and she heard in a soft tone, “Is it so hard for you to not be angry with me for a little while?”
She groaned inwardly. She wanted to say aye just on principle, but that would be a lie. There had been times when she had not been angry with him for one reason or another, times even when he had made her laugh, and certainly times when he—well, when he confused her so much she didn’t know what to think or feel.
At the moment he had defused her real anger by explaining about the whore. She was only annoyed now that he was laying down rules for her already, but she supposed she could leave that annoyance for another time.
She opened her eyes again. She found a new warmth in his. He had been staring at her all the while she wasn’t looking, and possibly thinking of that pleasure he had mentioned earlier. She had not listened clearly to those words when said, because of what he had added about her anger, but she recalled them now. I will likewise think only of the pleasure I want to visit on you in full measure.
Her stomach swirled unexpectedly. Jesu, he wanted to give her pleasure? And she knew that he could, for he had done it before.
She had tried so hard not to think
of that pleasure after that night, or want it again. Mostly she had managed to force it far from her thoughts, yet it was so hard. It had been so nice, so worthy of repeating. He could also send all her thoughts flying, and she did fear that, but ‘twas a small price to pay for the pleasure she remembered—which she could now experience again.
A shyness came upon her. He was patiently awaiting an answer. But concessions were not easy by any means. And her stubbornness wouldn’t let her make them outright—if she didn’t have to.
So she said finally, “Hard, aye.” But before he could take exception to that truth, she added a slight smile to make it more palatable for him, as well as, “But not impossible.”
He chuckled. “Verily, I would have expected no other answer from you. And I will appreciate whatever effort it costs you to keep peace in here. I will also make every effort on my part to assure that you do not regret it.”
“That sounds—promising.”
“Mayhap you need a demonstration?”
It occurred to her suddenly that from the moment the daze left her enough so that she became aware of him next to her in the bed, possibly before that, he had not been his usual self. As before, his behavior toward her was completely different when he was in this seducing frame of mind, which was all she could think to call his present behavior. And amazingly enough, she liked him when he was like this.
She had a suspicion that it would not be so hard, after all, to set any anger she might be feeling aside whenever they did share a bed. She had a feeling, also, that she was about to find that out for sure, when the fingers at her brow moved slowly down to her chin to angle her face just right to receive his kiss.
And it was an amazing kiss—tender, then hard, then tender, then so heated she thought her lips might combust under his. What made it amazing, though, was how quickly she responded to each nuance of it. Now that she was willing, or rather, accepting, even—anticipating, that they were finally going to get to the bedding part of the joining, she was more relaxed about it, her fear forgotten for the moment. And that left all of her senses unencumbered so she could experience it more fully. And she did.
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