Royal Dynasty: Fire Song Part 7

In the days that followed the signing of the marriage contract, Aubery was given no further reason to believe his bride was reluctant. In fact, the joy that blazed up in her eyes when his signature and seal were affixed to the doc.u.ments gave him the odd feeling that he, not she, had been somehow trapped. The way Fenice now glowed with happiness compared to her earlier uncertainty nagged at him. He told himself that he was imagining things, that he was becoming suspicious for no reason as his father had been, but he could not prevent himself one night from taking out his copies of the quittances and contracts and reading every word.

Reading them made him feel worse. They were exactly as William had described them. He was protected in every way, and the allowance William was making to Fenice was sufficiently generous, unless she was madly extravagant. Had Fenice left such heavy debts in Provence that Raymond wanted her out of an area in which she was well known and therefore could order jewelry and clothing without her husband's knowledge or permission? Was that the secret Alys and Raymond were keeping?

In a moment he shook his head. There was no way that could hurt him even if it were true. He had controlled Matilda's tendencies to spend more than she should. Aubery closed his eyes, and his throat thickened with unshed tears. How cruel that had been when her life was to be so short, but he had not known. He had not known!

Wrenching his mind from a wrong he could never undo, Aubery considered the question Alys had raised that morning, when did he wish to marry and how? It was odd that she had stopped him after having first sent Fenice away on an errand. And when he had given no immediate answer, she had looked at him strangely and suggested blandly that he discuss the matter with Fenice in private and let her know what had been decided.

He had felt then that Alys was teasing him and, not being in any mood for it, had snapped angrily, "What is there to discuss?"

And he had been silenced, not so much by Alys's sober reply that she needed to know whether he wished to wait for the king's arrival so that there would be English witnesses, perhaps the Earl of Hereford, his overlord, at the wedding, but by the intense look of trouble on her face. He had a still worse shock when, stopping abruptly in the middle of the questions she was asking, Alys had taken his hand and said most earnestly, "Oh, Aubery, if you do not wish to marry Fenice or wish to wait, you must know we will not hold you to this agreement. Do not worry about Marlowe, we-"

Aubery, recovered from the astonishment that had held him silent, replied, "Whatever is in your head, Alys? I find the arrangements most satisfactory. After all, I must marry to provide heirs to Ilmer and Marlowe, and Lady Fenice will be a good wife, I am sure. Unless you know something about her that I do not?"

It had been a pointed question, but Alys had shaken her head and replied in the negative immediately, a.s.suring him that her doubts had nothing to do with Fenice. Still, she had not looked completely happy and had urged him again to discuss the wedding with Fenice in private. "She is too much in awe of Raymond and too much aware of obligation to me to speak her own mind freely, but we wish to please her. Perhaps you can tease her true feelings from her. Go down into the garden, and I will send her to you."

d.a.m.n Alys for her mischief, Aubery thought as he ground to death an innocent tendril of thyme that had grown into the graveled path, and gritted his teeth. What she had said about Fenice was probably true enough, but he was sure her purpose was to push him into the girl's company. Why the devil was Alys so eager for him to spend every minute huddled in a corner with Fenice? It must be sheer mischief. He would have to stop trying to avoid being alone with Fenice. The more he sought to escape her, the more devious ways Alys found to thrust them together.

Meanwhile, Fenice had returned from her errand and, being told by Alys that Aubery wanted her, blushed with delight and rushed off to the garden. Aubery was quite right in accusing Alys of mischief, she was using every device she could find to provide opportunities for him to be alone with Fenice, because she had noticed that he preferred to avoid that situation. Fenice, however, was completely unaware of it and not in the least disturbed because Aubery did not try to push her into dark corners where he could caress her.

She had never been courted as Alys had been, nor had she ever been the center of any man's attention, except the few weeks with her husband before his mother had poisoned their relations.h.i.+p. During that time when Delmar had desired her, he had just said so or led her off to their chamber.

Fenice felt it was quite natural that Aubery spent most of his time with her father and Sir William. There were the coming sieges of La Reole and St. Emilion and the growing famine to consider. Fenice was aware that when Aubery had time to spend with her, he enjoyed it. More than once, he had forgotten an arrangement to ride out when they had been talking together.

In addition, Alys had never seen Aubery's eyes up close as Fenice did. He never showed much change of expression when talking to her, except sometimes irritation with the subject when he was explaining the political situation in England. But there was something in his eyes that Fenice recognized and sometimes a filling of his lips that was familiar to her, too. She knew the look of desire when she saw it. Delmar had never lost that. She felt it stir strongly in her, too, so strongly that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s became painfully sensitive and there was a throbbing in her groin, but that, she knew, was for after the priest's blessing, and she was proud that Aubery did not ask her to yield to him beforehand.

Thus, Fenice ran down to the garden and, seeing her betrothed staring down at a patch of herbs, approached him eagerly. Spitefully, Aubery bowed to her with cold formality, but her face lit with a smile, and she dropped into a curtsy of response with perfect good humor, asking how she might be of service. His formality, which Fenice innocently read as a form of respect, gave her intense pleasure, and Aubery was ashamed of himself for taking out on Fenice his irritation with Alys.

"Sit down here with me," he said, moving toward a seat farther along near a bed of lilies. His voice was soft with apology. She was, he thought, as sweet of temper as Matilda. He must not be unkind again. "Alys asked me to speak to you about our wedding. She wishes you to have exactly what you desire."

Fenice blushed deliciously. "I desire what will please you, my lord," she replied.

"That is just what you must not say," Aubery pointed out. "You are always too eager to please others. This is your wedding. You are to please yourself."

"It is yours, also," Fenice remarked, smiling, and then said more seriously, "I know that Lady Alys was concerned about the fact that there would be no English witnesses other than Sir William."

"That does not matter," Aubery a.s.sured her. "Alys's marriage was a state affair because of Raymond's kins.h.i.+p with the queen and his high position in Provence. But I have no such exalted relatives or position. The only interest the marriage of a simple knight to a simple gentlewoman could arouse would be in immediate neighbors or family. My father's two sisters are both immured in convents. My only uncle has been dead many years. As for neighbors, Hurley, which is nearest to Marlowe, belongs to my mother and will go, in the distant future, I hope, to my brother, John. Naturally, my mother and brother are aware of the arrangement and approve heartily. Closest to Ilmer is Herron, which is not truly a keep, only a rich manor, and its master, Harold, is just a boy and in his uncle's ward. And Sir Savin of Radanage-" Aubery scowled blackly. "He will be no witness at any marriage of mine, nor would I care what he thought."

In her mind Fenice filed the information that Sir Savin of Radanage was persona non grata with her future husband. At a more appropriate time she would ask what her public demeanor toward the man should be, a cold bow or no recognition at all. Harold of Herron, Fenice noted, reading her betrothed's expression with the skill developed as a child in watching small movements of face and body to know whether she would be welcome or an intruder, was someone for whom Aubery felt pity and perhaps some liking.

All she said, though, was, "Then you do not feel there is any cause to wait for the king's arrival?"

"No."

There was eagerness in Aubery's face, although it disappeared very quickly as he reminded himself that he was supposed to be a grieving husband, not a joyous bridegroom. Fenice, her eyes adoringly fixed on Aubery, caught both the eagerness and the swift quenching of it and thought her heart would burst with joy. Delmar had been eager and a gentle husband, but never, as far as Fenice knew, had he subdued any desire of his own in deference to hers, and she read Aubery's change of expression as an unwillingness to allow his eagerness for the marriage to influence her if she wished to wait.

Her delighted, if mistaken, opinion was confirmed as he went on slowly, "Lord Hereford might do me the honor of attending if he were asked, but it would be an imposition on him with all he will have on his hands as constable of the army. Yet not to invite him if he was in Gascony would also be wrong."

"Then, my lord," Fenice said quickly, her eyes alight with happiness, "if you are willing, it would be best, I think, to marry as quickly and privately as the matter can be contrived. The question of inviting your overlord will then not arise at all, and the lack of ceremony and celebration will be reason enough for not having awaited his coming."

Fenice's glowing eyes and pink-tinged cheeks made it impossible for Aubery to doubt her sincerity. They also aroused such a flood of desire in him that before he could control the impulse he leaned forward and kissed her full, red lips. Her response was immediate, and knowing. Her arm came around his neck and her fingers touched his ear. The lips opened under his, inviting his tongue. Aubery reached forward to pull her tight against him and, with a desperate effort of will, pushed her away instead.

Fortunately, he was incapable of speaking immediately, and since Fenice sighed, "Oh, thank you, my lord, thank you," as she put her hands to her hot cheeks, he was disarmed by confusion. Was she thanking him for the kiss or for breaking the embrace? And, in either case, how could he scold her? He cleared his throat harshly.

"You are sure this is what you desire? I can wait-"

He looked down at his hands, clenched so hard that the nails were biting into the calloused palms. Although he forced his hands open and raised his eyes, he really did not feel he could wait, and that drove him to stern measures of self-discipline.

"Perhaps you would like your sister to come," Aubery suggested, feeling that he had not fulfilled Alys's intention very well.

Fenice laid her hand gently over his. "You are so very good to me, my lord. I do not know how to thank you or to be sufficiently grateful for your consideration, but, truly, I have told you my own real desire. Enid is with Countess Beatrice, and I do not think she would like to be pulled from the lively life she leads to travel many weary leagues just to see me married when there will be no great ceremony."

"It is very strange to me that your desire mirrors my...my need so exactly." Actually Aubery had started to say "my own" and had tried to change the sentence into a less personal context, but the words had come out so that they were equally revealing. "I meant my convenience," he said hastily and then, "no!"

But Fenice was laughing merrily. "Oh," she gasped, "I do understand. You were thinking about Lord Hereford and the king. Is it not dreadful the way words can seem to mean just what you do not intend? But, my lord..." The hand on his trembled slightly. "If I may have my choice, I would be so happy if Father Francois could marry us here in the chapel with only Lady Alys and my papa and Sir William..."

Fenice's voice drifted off on a questioning note. Although he found any physical touch of hers exciting, her ready understanding and translation of his self-revelatory remarks into harmless statements put Aubery at ease. Once he adjusted to her beauty and her sensuous scent, he always found Fenice surprisingly comfortable company. It was Alys's training, he a.s.sumed. Fenice usually did understand what he meant, and like Alys she did not flirt. He had come to recognize the bold way her eyes met his as an imitation of Alys's habit and to realize that it was not meant as an invitation.

"If it really is your choice, I could not be more content," Aubery admitted. Then asked, "Will you speak to Alys or shall I?"

"Let us go together," Fenice suggested practically. "If I go alone, we will need to confirm the date with you, and although it cannot matter to me, Lady Alys is so kind she will, I know, ask me to approve whatever time and date you suggest."

Aubery agreed readily, and they went to find Alys, who raised her brows and said, "That did not take long."

"No," Fenice replied, innocently unaware that Alys's remark was directed at Aubery, "because my lord thinks that Lord Hereford will be too busy to be a witness but might come out of courtesy. And this falls in perfectly with my desire to avoid any large company or great ceremony-" She hesitated and glanced anxiously at her stepmother. "Unless-"

"There is no 'unless'. It is your wedding," Alys said, then laughed and shook her head at Fenice. "I know you to be as bad as a tortoise, pulling your head into your sh.e.l.l as soon as any stranger appears. However, in this case," Alys continued thoughtfully, "it really will be best to have a private wedding. With the famine growing and prospects for next year more evil than this, I think it unwise to make a show of plenty. In fact, it was stupid to have those burghers from Bordeaux to that feast last week. Raymond tells me there has been talk about the richness of the provisions. Yes, my love, I am not sorry for your shyness this once."

"Then as soon as is convenient for you and Papa, and Sir William, of course," Fenice said, "Father Francois can marry us right here in the chapel."

Alys's glance flicked to Aubery, and her smile was just a trifle strained, but she said nothing to him. Instead, she said to Fenice, "Will you run down to the stable and fetch your papa and Sir William to us, my love? You will be quicker about it than a servant and can explain why we want them." When Fenice had left, her eyes went back to Aubery's face, and they were full of loving concern.

"You have not said a word," Alys murmured.

Aubery shrugged. "What is there to say? Lady Fenice spoke my mind as well as hers."

"I fear you are not willing," Alys sighed, "and somehow Papa has constrained you-"

"You do your father a great injustice," Aubery snapped. "There is no way he could constrain me, and he would not if he could. What the devil ails you, Alys? You suggested this match, and now you seem to be the only one dissatisfied with it."

"I just wish to be sure that this haste of yours to be married is not a quick swallow to make a bitter medicine go down faster," Alys said. "I love you and Fenice both too much-"

"I will not mistreat Lady Fenice," Aubery interrupted stiffly, his voice almost metallically harsh.

Alys's breath drew in sharply, but not owing either to what Aubery had said or his tone. He had flushed darkly, which might have merely been anger, but somehow Alys knew it was not, or, at least, not entirely. There was just something about him that betrayed his craving for Fenice, and Alys called herself ten times a fool. Until she had somehow sensed that musky, sensual aura, she never really thought of Aubery as a man with a man's physical urges. To her he had always remained the s.e.xless child with whom she had played and squabbled.

She made some soothing remark, struggling not to give the slightest hint of what she had perceived, although now that she had finally recognized it, it was so clear that Alys even felt some slight response herself. Instinctively, she stepped back, away from the overpowering sense of maleness, and a choke of laughter was drawn from her. Poor man, how could she have been so cruel to him? No wonder he had been avoiding Fenice. And poor Fenice, too, if he had been projecting that "wanting" at her.

"You are quite correct," Alys said. "The sooner we have this wedding over with the better for all."

"What the devil do you mean by that?" Aubery snarled.

"Nothing, nothing," Alys a.s.sured him hastily. "I have been thinking of the danger of the king arriving any day. If he should, you would have to apprise Hereford of the wedding, and Henry is just the person to hear what he should not and conceive a desire to honor Raymond by attending his daughter's nuptials. Of all men in the world, I do not want Henry at Blancheforte."

"Good G.o.d, no!" Raymond exclaimed, having heard Alys's last sentence as he and William arrived with Fenice. "He would take one look at the place and begin to regret ceding it to us. What put so horrid a thought in your mind?"

Alys repeated her statement, and Raymond said, "Tomorrow. We will have the wedding tomorrow. How could I have overlooked so dreadful a possibility? Aubery, do you mind? Fenice?"

"All joking aside," William put in, "since Henry has a way of remembering only what he wishes to remember, if he sees that there is plenty in Blancheforte, he may 'forget' how small the demesne is and demand supplies. We must, indeed, do what we can to avoid drawing his attention."

"I was not joking," Raymond said. "That, too, was in my mind."

"Then we are agreed on tomorrow," Alys said, to her husband's surprise not glancing at either the prospective bride or groom. "I will inform Father Francois. Aubery, would you do me the favor to ride into Bordeaux to the mercer Bonafus? He should have ready for me some items I ordered to give to Fenice. And you, my love, had better seek the sewing women and give them your aid so that your gown may be ready."

Aubery made no protest over running Alys's errand, although he was aware that any of the men-at-arms could have been employed as well. It was clear that Alys had done an about-face. With the same a.s.siduity and ingeniousness that she had previously used to thrust them together, she had now decided to keep him apart from Fenice until they were brought together to be married. He pretended he did not notice Alys's devices and obediently occupied himself as she directed all the rest of the day, but he grew more and more unhappy as his a.s.sumption proved true.

He had a horrible night, desire struggling with shame and guilt, and woke with a raging headache from a few hours sleep near dawn to find that Alys had more devices to separate him from his betrothed. Fenice's gown was not finished. The cooks were heartbroken because the subtleties they planned would not be ready for dinner. The wedding was to be delayed until evening.

Aubery's eyes sought those of Raymond and William, but they would not meet his glance, and Aubery could not bring himself to ask why, if it was really a matter of a gown and the cooks' sensitivity, Fenice was being kept hidden. He stormed out of the hall, nearly weeping with pain and self-pity and because Raymond and William dotingly believed anything that blonde she-devil said. Could they not see that there was something she was hiding from him?

For the next half hour there was silence as Raymond, William, and Alys ate the bread, cheese, and fruit laid out for breaking the morning fast and braced themselves for their next encounter with Aubery. They all wore martyred expressions.

"I could not let them marry in the morning," Alys said plaintively. "You saw what he looked like. He would have said or done something dreadful before bedtime and frightened Fenice out of her wits. Yet with all of us here I know he would not satisfy his need at once-and even I could not think of any excuse to leave on their wedding day." She turned on her father crossly. "How did you let him become so self-righteous a prig?"

"He is not a self-righteous prig," William said defensively, then sighed. "Well, not usually. Partly, of course, it is because of Mauger. He is so determined not to be in any way like his father. But most of it has come about since Matilda's death. Oh, why, why did I yield to greed for the estates and let him marry that-that dimwitted saint?"

There was another silence, at the end of which William sighed again and rose, saying, "I had better go after him. If he will talk to me..."

But William found Aubery stretched out in a cool corner of the garden, fast asleep. Alys immediately gave orders that no work of any kind be done in any part of the garden so that Aubery would not be disturbed. Raymond protested around dinnertime that he would be starved, but Alys insisted that in his state of mind he would not have eaten much, if anything, anyway.

She paused and smiled, then went on. "Poor Fenice is busy sewing up seams that I had Edith unpick last night. The child innocently a.s.sumes she was so excited that she missed them. Ah, me. I will have a long confession to make to Father Francois when this marriage is at last happily consummated."

Alys's devices did have a beneficial effect. When William finally woke Aubery in the late afternoon, his headache was gone. The angle of the sun told him that only a few hours would bring sunset, and William's first words, that it was time to bathe and dress for the wedding, a.s.sured him that his waiting, for good or ill, was at an end.

It was pleasant and peaceful to be washed clean, and the barber was skillful so that his face was not sc.r.a.ped raw when the blond stubble was removed from his cheeks and chin. Aubery liked the clothing that was proffered, too, blue chausses and braies. Aubery wrinkled his nose over those, wondering why he needed the loose pants in the summer heat of Bordeaux, but he put them on. Perhaps Fenice, being southern-bred and not as much aware of the heat as he, would be offended if he were bare under his gown.

The gown, lavishly embroidered with thread-of-gold at neck, wrists, and hem, was blue as well, though of a brighter hue than the chausses and matched the cross garters. The surcoat, which fell only to midcalf to display the embroidered hem of the gown, was gold. Aubery fingered the cloth as he slid it over his head and felt the hard metallic thread. Nothing had been spared here. The glitter in the cloth was truly gold, and around the neckline and the waist-length armholes, there were broad ribbons of elaborate embroidery studded with small pearls.

The pride in William's smile when Aubery was dressed left him in no doubt that the clothes became him. Aubery told himself severely that he was acting like a stupid court popinjay and that it was unreasonable to care about his appearance, but nonetheless the awareness of the finery set him at ease. He did not permit himself to think that he would not be overshadowed before his new bride by any man, only admitted wryly that there was a kind of security in knowing that one was not the most meanly dressed in a group.

But he forgot it all the moment he saw Fenice. The only thought he had was that the gown that enhanced her loveliness so much had been worth the delay. As he was blue and gold, so she was gold and rose, and his bride-gift, which he had forgotten to give her and must have been searched out and sent by William, hung round her neck. Aubery murmured his thanks and also mentioned that it must have been a special act of Providence that the small, pale rubies in the beautifully worked gold necklace so exactly matched the rose of her overdress. Hearing him, Alys smiled. Seeing his relief and pleasure in how well his modest gift looked, she was very content that the credit for her frantic search among the mercers of Bordeaux for that color silk go to G.o.d.

Alys was content with all her devices, for Aubery looked like himself again, smiling good-humoredly when Raymond remarked, as they walked across the hall to the chapel entrance, that he had seldom seen so handsome a couple. Aubery even smiled at Fenice when her hand was placed in his and led her forward to the altar without hesitation. The ceremony was brief, Father Francois, although rather disappointed, since he rarely got to perform a wedding service, using the shortest form permissible, as he had been instructed.

Fenice was eager for this second marriage and made the responses in clear-voiced confidence, glowing and delicately flushed with happiness. And though Aubery's smile had faded and his eyes were shadowed when he looked away from her to swear the vows of a husband, he did not falter. Moreover, he seemed to cast off his unhappy memories when they went back across the hall, and smiled when he saw that the tables had been set up during the ceremony for an unusually elaborate evening meal. The high table was covered with a fine linen cloth and set with silver plates and spoons and rare gla.s.s drinking cups in deep, rich colors. A huge silver salt vessel marked the seat of honor. In accordance with Blancheforte's position as one guardian of the seaport of Bordeaux, the salt was a beautiful miniature reproduction of a seagoing s.h.i.+p, its sail reefed up to show the pure white ground crystals, and its oars loose in the locks to serve as salt spoons.

Actually, Aubery made for the seat of honor, which he knew was the groom's place, with such unromantic briskness, almost towing Fenice along in his wake that Alys grinned behind her hand. She was equally amused at the slight impatience he showed when one of Raymond's squires placed the catchbowl before him and began to pour spiced and scented warm water over his hands. Of course, he had just bathed, so his hands were clean, but the expectant glance he cast at the door explained the rapidity with which he withdrew his hands, wiped them on the clean towel over the squire's arm, and urged him on to the next person. Aubery was hungry.

Alys was delighted. Eating would keep Aubery happily employed for some time, and her foresight in providing a less substantial dinner than was customary would make certain that everyone welcomed the coming full-scale feast. Alys's expectation was fulfilled as the first set of servants entered. There were only two horn players to blare a fanfare, but they made a merry noise supported by the other musicians to whom no one paid the slightest attention. All eyes, except Fenice's, which were adoringly raised to her husband's face, were fixed on the serving trays, which supported a roast swan, refeathered and apparently swimming in a green aspic that contained boiled brown river trout, a roast yearling boar surrounded by an oval pasty filled with a stuffing made of "garbage", the boar's brain, organs, and glands, mixed with bread and spices, and a roast lamb, kneeling on a field of boiled and flavored mixed greens.

That was the most elaborate effort. The other three courses of the meal were more ordinary, but no one complained, particularly Aubery, who ate like a wolf, although he did manage to make the proper offerings of first choice to his wife before he fell on each dish. Aubery was indeed content, and not only with the food. The vague shadow of suspicion that had remained in his mind was allayed by the dramatic first three dishes and almost completely soothed away when, after each course, a most elegant subtlety did appear, the cook accompanying his creation.

If these were not the towering structures of a state dinner, they were still well contrived, and the delight of their creators made Aubery lean across and press Alys's hand in mute apology. Poor men, he thought, it would have been cruel indeed if those works of art of pastry and crystallized honey had not been presented or had been presented half-finished. And he thanked William again when he found his purse pressed into his hand so that he could give Fenice a silver coin to give to each cook.

She was so surprised and delighted at his allowing her to distribute the largess that she kissed the hand that offered the coin. For that moment Aubery forgot that he had ever known any woman besides the gentle, grateful girl who was his bride, and he bent his head and laid his cheek against her headdress. Alys sniffed sentimentally, but the sigh that followed as her eyes moved from the newlyweds to the window was simply a sigh of relief that the long summer day was over at last. The supper, subtleties and all, had lasted as she had planned until full dark. A half-hour's quiet talk after the tables were removed, and she could with decency suggest it was time for bed.

There would be no bedding ceremony. William was quite willing to take Alys's word that Fenice had no blemish serious enough to make her unsuitable as a wife, and Raymond knew Aubery to be normal. Perhaps he carried more battle scars now, but they obviously were not crippling. There was thus no reason to examine bride or groom. Moreover, since Fenice was a widow, she could not be expected to give evidence of a maidenhead. No more, then, was necessary than to walk with the bride and groom to the door and see that the room was all in order.

William did embrace Aubery with some ferocity and growl at him, "Be happy, my son. It is right that you be happy." He was more gentle with Fenice and only kissed her brow as did her father. But Alys hugged her stepdaughter hard, however, her whisper was somewhat less than proper. "Enjoy!" she urged. "This time you have a man."

Chapter Ten.

It was not until the door closed that Fenice and Aubery truly became aware of the fact that they were married. That they now belonged to each other had not felt real until they were alone facing the big bed in which they would consummate the priest's blessing.

Fenice reacted by immediately recalling Alys's naughty remark, and she chuckled, completely unafraid and at ease. In a s.e.xual sense, Delmar had been a very good husband. Unadept at war, her late husband had proven his virility as a lover instead. Fortunately for Fenice, he was naturally gentle and did not think of virility in animal terms, that is, of forcing a female into submission. His pleasure came from making Fenice crave coupling, and he had been very successful.

That Aubery had failed with Matilda where Delmar had succeeded with Fenice was not completely his fault. He was not naturally gentle, but he had loved Matilda and did not wish to hurt or frighten her. That he had done both was partly owing to his own relative ignorance but largely the fault of her totally unrealistic att.i.tudes and expectations. Aubery had, in fact, shown far more patience than could have been expected from his disposition because he a.s.sociated his father with b.e.s.t.i.a.lity toward women and was determined not to repeat Mauger's sins.

Nonetheless, he simply had not sufficient skill or knowledge when he and Matilda were first married to overcome her religious prejudices and surprise her with the pleasure of physical love. She was never really ready, so coupling was always a little painful, and her prejudices only became more fixed. Matilda was too sweet-tempered and too simple ever to deny her husband's demands, but it was all too clear that she only endured what she believed it was her duty to endure. And once she got with child and felt her duty to procreate was done, she had begun to lecture Aubery on his l.u.s.tfulness, although she still did not refuse him. By that time, his advances were few and far between, and they remained so even after their daughter was born.

It was thus with considerable surprise that Aubery heard Fenice's little laugh. He did not expect a widow to scream and struggle as Matilda had on their wedding night, of course, but he was prepared for some apprehension until he had satisfied himself. Unless Fenice thought she could refuse him? At which point Aubery remembered the way her lips had parted under his when he had kissed her, and a thrill of expectation ran through him.

As if she felt his sudden rush of need, Fenice turned and asked, "Shall I help you to undress, my lord?"

He had grown accustomed to the rich music of her voice, but alone in this room, facing the bed in which they would mate, it struck him anew. He had to swallow hard before he could say, "No. Undress yourself. I will attend to my own needs."

Her hands went at once to her headdress. She removed it and shook out with total unselfconsciousness a mane of hair that fell to her hips. With equal aplomb, she shed her outer gown, her tunic, and her s.h.i.+ft, then bent to slip off her shoes and roll off her stockings. She had turned half away so that Aubery had a view from the side, much obscured by the fall of hair. Fenice was not modest, but she had learned that the flicker of white flesh, hip, breast, nipple, through a veil was far more enticing than a flat presentation of a whole naked body. And what worked with Delmar seemed to be even more effective now. Once or twice she glanced sidelong at her new husband standing with his hands frozen on the pearl b.u.t.tons of his surcoat. The fixed and glazed expression on his face made Fenice s.h.i.+ver several times but not with fear.

When she was naked, she turned to face him, drawing her hair forward over her shoulders so that it framed her face and hid her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly, the irregular ends mingling with the curls on her mound of Venus. Had her hair been a solid sheet, Fenice would have been covered with decency. Unfortunately the strongly erect nipples on her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s parted the strands of hair with every movement and kept peeping through. Aubery swallowed again and s.h.i.+fted his hips. The cloth of his braies had seemed soft enough when he put them on, but now every thread sc.r.a.ped against the bared head of his rising shaft.

"Did I make those b.u.t.tonholes too tight?" Fenice asked softly. "I beg you to let me undo them."

About to order her to get into bed, Aubery remembered the b.u.t.tons were pearls. He knew quite well that he was not going to be able to undo those b.u.t.tons one by one, and to pull them loose and lose the jewels was insane. If she were closer, he would not be able to see her, either.

"Your fingers are more nimble," he said.

He did not recognize his voice, but Fenice gave no evidence of surprise. He had to close his eyes as she advanced, but that was not much help, for her fragrance a.s.saulted his senses, and her touch made him clench his teeth and fists to resist grabbing her and throwing himself atop her. But Fenice's mind was as nimble as her fingers, and as soon as the b.u.t.tons were undone, she retreated hastily. Now Aubery made quick work of removing his clothes and turned toward Fenice to tell her to get into bed, only to find she was back beside him.

"You are a very beautiful man," she murmured, running a hand over the broad muscles of his chest and down to the relatively narrow hip.

Aubery was so astonished that he just stood and stared while Fenice leaned forward, nuzzled his chest, and put the tip of her tongue to his nipple. He jerked, uttering a choked sound of mingled excitement and protest, which made Fenice chuckle softly and murmur, "Did I tickle you? I am so sorry," and press her lips more firmly to the area.