The Reckoning

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Ellen gasped, sitting up in alarm. There was sudden movement beyond the bed curtains, as if men were getting hastily out of the way. But Clifford’s enraged reply was cut off in mid-oath. “Let it lie, Roger.” Edward’s voice was very cold, iced with authority. “You asked for that and well deserved it. Who can blame the man for taking offense? If you said that about my wife, by Christ, I would!”

  Ellen could not have imagined she’d ever feel grateful to Edward, not in this life or the next. But she did now, was very thankful that he’d averted bloodshed. She got some additional help then from another surprising source—Davydd.

  “Are we planning to spend the rest of the winter in here?” he demanded impatiently. “The bridegroom is not the only one with an eager wife waiting in his bed. Let’s drink to his health or prowess or whatever whilst he sheds the rest of his clothes, show him where the bed is, and get back to our own women, ere I start thinking that sinning is merely a spectator sport with you English.”

  That speech won Davydd few friends; there was some murmuring among the English. But he seemed to have prodded them into action, and Ellen listened with relief as they clinked their wine cups together, drank to “Night-time sins and morning-after regrets.” Ellen breathed a quick prayer of thanksgiving, first to the Queen of Heaven, who was said to smile upon young wives, and then to St Edward, whose day it was, for she could tell that the men were no longer roused and ready to raise hell, would soon be gone. So when trouble came, it took everyone, but especially Ellen, by surprise.

  It was all the more disturbing because she could not see what was happening. But suddenly the Earl of Gloucester was shouting. “You clumsy dolt! I’m soaked clean-through!” A scuffle seemed to have broken out. There was a muffled curse, a grunt, and then a body came hurtling through the bed curtains, sprawled across her legs. Ellen screamed, grabbing for the sheets, and found herself gazing into the face of a total stranger, one who looked just as shocked as she did. He essayed a weak, sheepish smile, started to push himself up, realized he had his hand on her thigh, and jerked it away as if he’d been burned, which caused him to topple backward onto the bed coverlets again, just as the curtains were ripped aside. Grasping the intruder’s arm, Llewelyn pulled him roughly off the bed. His coordination seemed rather the worse for wine; as boneless and limp as one of Ellen’s childhood rag dolls, he flopped over into the floor rushes, where he blinked up at them, mouth ajar, in utter, innocent bewilderment.

  Ellen looked down at her surprise bedmate, back up at her audience. They did not seem to know how to react, not yet sure whether they should be amused or abashed, but they were quick to crowd closer to the bed, to get a glimpse of the bride. Clapping her hand to her mouth, Ellen rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Llewelyn swiftly leaned over the bed, seeking to comfort his distraught wife, and then glanced over his shoulder at the suddenly silent men. “Out,” he snarled, “all of you, out!”

  They shuffled their feet, looking oddly ill at ease, for these men, who faced without flinching the dangers of the battlefield, could be strangely daunted by a woman’s tears. Even if there had been some among them unwilling to take orders from a Welshman, Prince or no, they had no chance to balk, for Edward was quick to echo Llewelyn’s command.

  “Damned fool drunken sots! You do not behave in a maiden’s bridal chamber the way you do in a Southwark whorehouse!” And there was enough disgust in his voice to propel them all toward the door, arrows shot from one bow, eager now only to escape out into the night.

  “You’ve just lost your audience, cariad,” Llewelyn said, and as Ellen turned over, it was as he’d suspected. Her eyes were very bright, reflecting the gold of the candle flame above her head, but without even the glimmer of a tear, for it was laughter she’d been trying to muffle, not sobs.

  “How did you know?”

  “A woman who prevailed against pirates, Edward, and my dark demons was not likely to fall into a swoon over a drunkard’s tomfoolery,” he pointed out reasonably, and then laughed, for she’d flung herself into his arms, so exuberantly that he came close to tumbling off the edge of the bed, dragging them both down into the floor rushes.

  “I truly could not help myself, Llewelyn. He looked so silly, sitting there on the floor with his mouth open, like a poor fish that did not understand, how it had gotten hooked!”

  “Little wonder he looked dazed, for none of it was his doing. It was one of the other men who jostled Gloucester, dousing him with wine. But when Gloucester shoved him, he fell against your poor fish, who went shooting into the bed like a salmon looking to spawn!”

  That set Ellen off again. When she finally got her breath back, she confided, “I could feel the laughter about to spill out, and I knew if I gave them any encouragement, we’d not get rid of them till dawn! So it seemed as good a time as any to develop some maidenly modesty, and you, my darling, were so quick to seize the moment!”

  “Let’s just say I had a powerful inducement.” They were entangled together in the bed covers, and as they sat up, she lost even more of the sheet. But when she started to tuck it back around her, he caught the corner, pulled it down about her waist, and then took her in his arms, wanting to feel her breasts against his chest as he kissed her. Almost at once, though, he ended the embrace. “Jesú, the door!”

  Once the bolt had been safely shot into place, he came swiftly back to the bed. To his delight, she sat as he’d left her, having made no attempt to draw the sheet up again. He was clad only in chausses and braies, the rest of his clothes scattered about the chamber. Ellen watched with flattering interest as he tugged at the cords binding hose to braies, jerking impatiently when they did not at once come loose. “You seem like a man in a tearing hurry,” she teased, and he grinned.

  “Yes and no.” Stripping off the braies, he quickly joined her in bed. “I am eager, I’ll admit, to begin this quest of ours, but I do not want to find the Grail too soon, not until we’ve searched high and low, long and hard. There are many sorts of pleasures in this world, cariad, but tonight the only pleasure I’m seeking is prolonged.”

  She laughed, and when he reached for her, she rolled over into his arms. Almost at once, she discovered that their time together at the Tower and Rhuddlan Castle had not prepared her for the intensity of what she was experiencing now, in the intimate embraces of their marriage bed. As he began a leisurely exploration of her body, it seemed to her as if a fire was being kindled, slowly and deliberately, but hotter than she could ever have imagined. She soon found even the light weight of the sheet was stifling, and each time he claimed her mouth with his, she could not help thinking that this must be what Scriptures meant by cloven tongues of fire. Only when he parted her thighs was she hesitant, at first. As she shuddered suddenly, biting back a cry, he gently brushed her hair away from her face.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, and as her arms tightened around his neck, he barely heard the whispered “eventually” she breathed into his ear. “Ah, love,” he laughed, “that is a very old joke, probably going back to Adam and Eve,” and as her lashes swept upward, he found himself looking into eyes wide and wondering and suddenly hurt.

  “Not to me,” she protested. “This is all new to me, this is… Do you not see, Llewelyn? I am Eve, at least for tonight.”

  “You’re right, love,” he conceded. “I might as well confess that I have not bedded that many virgins, for with one long-ago exception, I never fully understood why men put so much importance upon being first—until now.”

  “Would you be jealous, then, of me?” she asked hopefully, and as he assured her with a grin that if another man touched her, he’d merely kill him, he realized in surprise that he might well mean it.

  “I want you to be jealous,” she confided. “I am, for certes. Were you jealous of her, too? You know which ‘her,’ that long-ago exception of yours. Surely you’ve not forgotten her name?”

  “Do you really want to talk about her now?” he laughed, but when she persisted, he a
dmitted that he did remember, that her name was Melangell.

  He’d begun to kiss her throat again, and she gave a soft sigh, putting him in mind of a cat’s purring. “I love it when you do that,” she murmured. “But I suppose your Melangell did, too. Your first time together, was it all you’d hoped it would be? Did—Llewelyn, you are laughing at me!”

  “Of course I am! Cariad, would you have me believe you’re truly jealous of a woman I bedded ere you were even born?” He laughed again, at the sheer, sweet absurdity of that, and then said, “But to satisfy your unseemly curiosity, our first time was not all it ought to have been, at least not for her, as I was a green lad of seventeen, more keen on my own pleasures than hers.”

  “That is a fine recommendation, indeed! Why did you not tell me this sooner?” she chided, breathing again into his ear, nipping unexpectedly. “I see I ought to have examined your credentials much more thoroughly, my lord husband—” She gave a sudden squeal then, for he’d rolled over on top of her, pinning her easily under the weight of his body.

  “You can examine my credentials anytime you like,” he offered gravely, “and as often as you like. My love, you’re flying much higher than I first thought. Just how much wine did you have tonight?”

  She smiled up at him. “Oh, a lot! But it was not the wine. It is the mead that has suddenly gone to my head. I ought to have taken more care, but I did not yet know that things Welsh are so potent.”

  “Jesú,” he said, very softly, “when I think of the three years that English whoreson kept us apart…” Kissing her before she could reply, regretting the words as soon as they were uttered, for there was no room for three in a bed, and he’d not let Edward poison their pleasure again, not tonight. “I must be squashing you as flat as a water reed.” Rolling over, he drew her down on top of him, marveling how soft her skin was. “You need not worry, cariad, for I’ll do better by you than I did by little Melangell. There are some distinct advantages, you see, in wedding a man past his youth. A seasoned archer knows an arrow must be well aimed, slow and steady, taking his time, whilst a raw lad is so eager to shoot the arrow that he oft-times misfires, thinking speed is all that counts, when accuracy and endurance matter even more.”

  She didn’t laugh, though. Reaching out, she caressed his face with her fingers. “Do not,” she pleaded, “do not talk of all the time we’ve lost, for we can never get it back, never…”

  After that, it was quiet for a time, and as he stoked the fire higher between them, he realized that their pleasures were not going to be as prolonged as he’d hoped, for he was finding her to be too apt a pupil, eager to learn, able to excite him by her very innocence, her utter trust. “It is going to have to be soon, my love. I want you too much to hold back…”

  “Llewelyn…” As he raised his head from her breasts, she ensnared him with a long strand of her hair, trailing it across his chest and twining it about his throat. He thought it looked as if they were bound by a rope of flame, for wherever the candle’s light touched her hair, it gleamed like gold, dark and lustrous. “Did you love her? Melangell?” she asked, very low, and he nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, “I did.”

  “Do you think you could love me?”

  Her face was very still; she seemed utterly intent upon his answer. He gave the only one possible. “Yes,” he said, “oh, yes,” and she slid her arms up his back, keeping her eyes upon his face.

  “Love me, then,” she whispered. “Love me now.”

  Llewelyn awoke sometime before dawn. The hearth fire still smoldered and a few candles still flickered, and through a crack in one of the shutters, he could see no trace yet of light. It took him several moments before he could slide out of bed, for they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and it was not easy to disengage himself, to avoid tugging upon the long hair that had mantled them both in the night. After using the corner privy chamber, he poured a cup of mead and brought it back to the bed. It was not his choice for early morning, but it was all the chamber held, and he knew that if he felt so thirsty, Ellen’s craving upon awakening would be far worse.

  After drinking his fill, he set the cup down in the floor rushes, got back into bed. As he did, Ellen stirred and her eyes opened. “I was trying not to wake you,” he said, and leaned over to give her a quick kiss.

  “I do not mind.” She smiled sleepily at him, looking so content, so appealingly disheveled, that he put his arm around her shoulders, drew her in against his chest as he asked about any wine-induced after-effects.

  “I feel fine,” she assured him, stifling a yawn. “But my mouth…it’s so dry!”

  “Here.” Reaching down for the mead cup, he passed it to her, watched as she drank, grimaced, and drank again, sparingly this time. “Not exactly a breakfast beverage, I know, but the best I can offer. You truly do feel well, Ellen? No throbbing head, no queasiness, no alarming gaps in your memory? You do remember last night?” he said, with a sudden grin.

  “Why?” She yawned again, delicately, behind her hand. “Did something happen that I ought to remember?” she asked, and then smiled, a smile that left no doubts whatsoever as to the accurate functioning of her memory.

  “It is still early yet,” he said, “so we can have a few more hours to sleep…” It was very pleasant to lie there in companionable quiet, her body cuddled against his, her head pillowed in the crook of his shoulder. But as he watched, he saw a frown begin to furrow her brow.

  “Llewelyn…there is something I do not remember,” she said, speaking with hesitancy at first, and then, with growing certainty. “I do not remember feeling any pain! Llewelyn, were you not supposed to hurt me?”

  “Jesú, lass, it is too early for you to make me laugh,” he protested, but laughing, nonetheless. “Of all the complaints a man could get about his lovemaking, for certes, that has to be the most peculiar!”

  “I am serious,” she insisted, and as he looked into her face, he saw that she really was. “I was always taught that a woman experiences pain when she loses her maidenhead. But I honestly do not remember it.”

  She was gazing at him expectantly, as if he could provide answers, and so he did his best to oblige. “Well,” he said, “a female friend of mine—not Melangell—once told me that a woman’s discomfort is much greater if she is tense or fearful. So why would not the reverse also be true? The more relaxed a woman is, the less pain. And this I can assure you, cariad, that there has probably never been a more relaxed bride since Eve woke up in Eden. Then, too, I made sure you were ready for me. My guess is there was probably a small amount of discomfort, but it was soon over, sooner forgotten.”

  She nodded slowly, agreed that seemed likely, but he could see she was still pondering the puzzle, trying to recapture any elusive memory of that fleeting lost moment. “I just thought of something else,” he said. “That same confidante also told me that there are many misconceptions about a breached maidenhead. Most men think there ought to be a lot of blood, but she said that was not always so. It seems to me that if bleeding can vary, why cannot pain, too?” He hid a smile then, for it was dawning upon him what an incongruous conversation this was, about as unlikely a topic as he could have envisioned to start off the first day of their married life together.

  “I suppose you are right,” she said, “but I—Oh, dear God, blood!” And with that, she dived under the covers.

  “Dare I ask what you’re seeking?” he queried, trying not to sound too amused. “I can see right off that life with you is not going to be dull!”

  The covers were rippling and undulating as if the bed was being struck by an earthquake. After another moment or so, she came up for air, looking flushed and dismayed. “I cannot find any blood,” she blurted out. “Llewelyn, I did not bleed!”

  “So? Ellen, why does it matter? I need no proof—”

  “Not for you,” she said impatiently. “I know you’d not doubt me. But what of the others, Edward’s court? In a few hours, the wedding party will be bursting in here t
o inspect the sheets, and I am not going to be shamed before them! That I swear, even if I—”

  “Easy, lass, easy. We’ll deal with it. I’d forgotten about the sheets,” he admitted, “but I’m sure there must be some blood.” With that, he flung the covers back. “There,” he said, “a small stain of purity, enough to satisfy the most suspicious witness.”

  “You can afford to laugh,” she said wryly, “for you men never have to offer proof of your honor, and a lucky thing it is, too.” Reaching out tenatively, she touched the blood-stain with her finger. “It is not very much,” she said, sounding faintly disappointed, “and how did it get all the way down there? Little wonder I could not find it!”

  “I thought you said you remembered everything about last night,” he said, and she looked at him, then grinned.

  “We were…active,” she conceded. “Llewelyn… I’d wager I know a story about your grandfather that you do not, about his wedding night with Joanna.”

  “A wager? What are the stakes?”

  Ellen was well aware of the direction his thoughts had suddenly taken; for several moments now, his eyes had been straying to those parts of her anatomy revealed when he’d thrown back the sheets. “Well…if you win, we make love, and if I win, we make love. Does that sound fair?”

  “Very fair,” he agreed, wondering how he could have gotten so lucky so late in life. He really was curious, though, about her story, so he settled back against the pillows, willing to wait.

  “You know that Joanna was very young, just fourteen, and not a willing bride. You can imagine how scared she was then, on their wedding night. But your grandfather was a remarkable man; I see where you get your gallantry from! He assured her that they need not consummate their marriage that night, that there was no reason why they could not wait till she was more at ease with him. As you’d expect, she was relieved and grateful, but just as she was falling asleep, she remembered that the wedding guests would come in on the morrow to check the sheets for blood. They found it, too, courtesy of your grandfather!”