Eliza tuned her lute and started to play very softly. Catherine lay back in the tub, one white foot in Alys' hands, and shut her eyes. Alys, feeling her healing power welling and pouring through her fingers, rubbed at the sole of Catherine's swollen foot. She sensed Catherine's lack of balance, an unevenness about her body, something sickly, something poisonous inside her. She took up the other foot and rubbed it gently with oil.
When she had finished with Catherine's feet she went to the head of the tub and very gently poured water over Catherine's thick brown hair, concentrating on the skin of the scalp and the temples, washing it with soap and then rubbing it with oil, and then rinsing it all until the hair was clean.
The discontented look of a lonely child had drained away from Catherine as if Alys' touch was a panacea. Her face was rosy. When Eliza's song had finished, she hummed the chorus and then waved her hand: 'Sing it again!' she said. Eliza shot an irreverent wink at Alys and took up the lute for a second time and sang the song through once more. Catherine sighed with pleasure. 'The water is growing cold,' Alys said. 'You must come out, Catherine, or you will chill.'
Eliza laid down the lute and opened the door for a serving-girl. Alys held up the warmed sheet and draped it around Catherine from the front, Eliza threw a warmed sheet over her shoulders and back.
'Clear this,' Alys said abruptly to the serving-girl and Eliza.
She guided Catherine to the bed and patted at her face and hands and shoulders until they were dry, then she combed her fine brown hair and spread it out around her on the warmed sheet so that it would dry without tangles.
Catherine lay like a painted statue, pink from the heat, smiling. Alys dropped the bed-curtains from their bags and drew them around the bed. The serving-men came and took the bath away. When they had gone, slopping water and swearing, the room was very quiet. Alys tied back the curtains at the head so Catherine could see the fire crackling and the flames burning brightly, sweet-smelling with Alys' incense.
The door behind Alys opened and Hugo came into the room.
He stepped up to the bed and put an arm around Alys' waist to keep her at her place.
'Are you well, my Lady Catherine?' he asked gently.
Catherine's eyes fluttered open. She smiled her delight at seeing him.
'Hugo,' she said. 'You have been away from me for so long!'
He nodded. 'I have neglected you,' he said. 'I left you to care for yourself and the child and Alys here tells me that you are not taking the exercise you need.'
Catherine looked at Alys and smiled. 'She takes very good care of me,' she said.
'And she has a wonderful touch, has she not, Catherine?' Hugo asked.
Alys looked quickly at him. He was smiling, there was some heat at the back of his smile. Alys could smell his lust like woodsmoke on an east wind. She tensed and tried to move aside. Hugo's grip tightened on her waist and his smile never faltered.
'Oh yes,' Catherine agreed. 'She has been rubbing my back and my feet and my head. Alys has healing in her fingers, her touch is like silver.'
Alys could feel Hugo's heat through his doublet. She felt danger massing around her, clotting in corners of the room, thickening and rolling closer like woodsmoke from green wood.
'I will leave you,' she said. 'I will leave you two alone and order your supper to be served here tonight.'
'No,' Hugo said, not taking his eyes from Catherine's rosy, relaxed face. 'I have a fancy to see you massage my wife with your oils, Alys.' Catherine's eyes widened, but she said nothing. 'It is not fit…' Alys started.
'Do it,' Hugo said softly. 'You have done everything else I have ever desired. Now I desire this.'
He lifted the sheet which covered Catherine and dropped it to one side. Catherine, revelling in his attention after weeks of neglect, lay still and let him look at her, let his eyes wander over her bloated pale body, distended with her pregnancy. 'I please you?' she asked humbly.
Hugo placed his hand on the mound of her belly. 'You do,' he said. 'And this pleases me most of all.'
He glanced at Alys who was motionless, watching the two of them together.
'Do it, Alys,' he said. It was an order. Alys went slowly to the table and poured lavender and almond oils into the palm of her hand and rubbed them to make them warm. She was thinking feverishly how to escape from the two of them, how to get herself out of Catherine's chamber and into the safety of the ladies' gallery where the others were sitting around the fire and chattering about the haymaking. She glanced at Hugo as she walked around to the other side of the bed. His dark eyes were very bright. He looked capable of anything. Alys smelled danger as sharp as a curl of smoke from a spark in a haystack.
She started gently and softly to stroke oil into Catherine's white puffy shoulders and arms. Catherine lifted her head to expose her thick neck, closed her eyes and lay still.
With a little laugh Hugo walked to the door. Alys heard the click of the lock as he turned the key and then the rustle of his doublet as he threw it off. When he came back to the bed on the other side, he had rolled up his shirtsleeves and poured a handful of oil into his own hands.
'I will copy you, Alys, and learn your skills,' he said. His voice was like silk; Alys heard the tone of his rising lust and did not look across at him.
Catherine's nipples were hardening as they stroked her shoulders and her neck.
'A little lower?' Hugo suggested, a ripple of laughter in his voice. Alys stroked, with gentle small touches, down to the swell of Catherine's breast. Hugo copied her movements exactly. Catherine arched her back slightly on the bed, her stomach raised, her breasts moving towards their hands.
Hugo chuckled. His palm moved confidently down and Alys watched her lover cup his hand over his wife's plump breast.
'I should leave you now,' she whispered. She could not drag her eyes away from his confident, caressing hand. Catherine sighed with pleasure, her eyes still closed.
'You do it, Alys,' he told her, smiling his mischievous smile at Alys' tense, anxious face. 'Do it,' he said again.
Gently she stroked the slope of Catherine's breast. 'I command it,' Hugo said softly. Alys slid the palm of her hand over Catherine's plump nipple and felt the nipple harden beneath her touch with a delicious responsiveness. Catherine moaned.
'Rub me,' she said.
'You do it,' Hugo demanded. He reached across Catherine and took Alys' other hand and placed it on Catherine's other breast. At Alys' touch Catherine smiled. Her face, warm with pleasure, shadowed in candlelight, was lovely. Alys stroked gently all around Catherine's hot breasts, rubbed the nipples with the flat of her palm, felt a sudden rising desire to press harder, to stroke and pummel Catherine's warm, bulging, newly washed skin, to pinch her, tease her, see her squirm and arouse her desire.
'I have to tell you, my lady, that I have lain with Alys,' Hugo said quietly. Alys gasped and froze, but Catherine, her head arched back, her breasts pushed upwards to Alys' hands, was not distracted from her greedy sensuality.
'I could not resist her,' Hugo said gently. 'She is a most delicate whore.'
Catherine laughed, a breathless laugh, deep in her throat. 'You must take your pleasure where you will, Hugo,' she said. 'You are a man. You are the lord. You must have all that you desire.'
'I am going,' Alys said abruptly. She turned for the door but Hugo was quicker. He blocked her way in a moment and she stood, outraged, her eyes blazing.
Hugo's smile was as feckless and wicked as she had ever seen.
'Turn around, Alys,' he said.
For a moment she hesitated and he took her gently by her shoulders and turned her back to Catherine's sprawled wanton bulk on the bed. Catherine opened her eyes and smiled at Alys; she looked ready to eat her. Alys shuddered – partly from distaste, partly from a rising, unwanted desire. She was trapped by Hugo's lust, in Hugo's fantasy, as she had so often entrapped him. Gently he pushed her back to the bed. 'Touch her, Alys,' he said softly. 'Touch my wife again. You can stroke her �
� or even pinch her. You can slap her if you wish. I imagine you would like to slap her. She will not mind. She likes it.'
He pushed her gently and Alys leaned forward and slid her hand, still slick with oil, from Catherine's thick throat down to her fat breasts. Catherine groaned softly and reached her arms out for Alys.
Hugo's skilful hands went to the back of Alys' gown and untied the lacings, loosening them swiftly. Alys straightened up to protest, but Catherine, without opening her eyes, still smiling, caught one of her hands and pulled it back on the warm, squashy breast.
'Rub me,' she said. 'Alys, rub me.'
Hugo chuckled, his wicked spoilt-boy chuckle, held Alys more firmly around her waist and pulled the lace from the holes with a swift hiss. The green stomacher and wide sleeves tumbled off. Hugo pushed down the white linen chemise so Alys' breasts and arms were bare. She made a soft, inarticulate protest.
'My gown,' he reminded her. 'The new green gown. Mine to strip from you, as we agreed.'
He untied the strings of the overskirt and dropped the expensive brocade to the floor. He untied the green silk underskirt and it fell in a ring at Alys' feet. Alys, held by Hugo's careless hand around the waist, both hands captured by Catherine, stood leaning over the bed wearing nothing but her fine linen shift.
'On the bed,' Hugo ordered. He pushed her gently, and when she resisted he pushed her harder. 'I mean it, Alys,' he said. There was an unmistakable threat in his low voice. 'You have no choice, Mistress,' he said.
Reluctantly Alys climbed on the bed beside Catherine. Catherine turned her face to her and smiled. 'Pretty Alys,' she said. Her voice was slurred with desire. 'Take her shift off, Hugo,' she said. 'Strip her.'
Hugo pulled Alys' shift up from her hips and over her head in one smooth motion as Catherine reached out for her and pulled her down beside her.
'I may not enter you, my lady,' Hugo said thickly to Catherine. 'It would be dangerous for the baby and bad for your milk. But I can give you some pleasure, I think.'
Catherine laughed, a delighted, indulged laugh. 'You bring me your whore?' she asked. 'Hugo, you are wicked! You bring me your whore to please me with her silver fingers?'
Hugo chuckled. 'I am a little wicked,' he conceded. They sounded as if they were flirting in some elaborate courtly ritual. Alys between them, naked and shivery, shrank back as Catherine's scented damp body pressed forward.
'But she would tempt a saint, wouldn't she, Catherine?' Hugo asked agreeably. 'You can't blame me for falling into temptation with Alys.'
He took a handful of Alys' hair and pulled her head back. He put his mouth over hers and Alys felt his tongue slide shamelessly into her mouth as he kissed her deeply and fully while Catherine watched. Incredulously, through her own rising desire, she heard Catherine's low aroused chuckle.
Hugo released her. 'See how I share my secrets with you, Catherine!' he said. 'You are my lady! This is my whore.'
Catherine took Alys' limp hand and put it to her breast again. 'Touch me again,' she said. 'Like you were doing before.'
‘I won't be commanded as if I were a toy,' Alys said. She tried to speak with her power in her voice, but she sounded soft, petulant. She felt her power draining from her, mauled by the two of them. She pulled back, away from Catherine's grasping hands, but Hugo was up on the bed behind her and pressing her forwards. His arms came round her waist and caressed her breasts. Alys felt the warmth of his familiar hands stroking her, cupping her breasts, gently pulling at her hardening nipples. Catherine's hands were on her belly, spanning and pinching Alys' narrow waist. 'Don't,' Alys said weakly. She heard consent in her own voice. She felt her rising desire to be taken by them both, to have them both use her as they wished. As if they were two rich, indulged children, and she a new toy for them to finger and destroy. As if she were without value, a nothingness, which they might tease, abuse, reject. If the two of them played with her to destruction, tore her to pieces between their greedy mouths and working fingers, it would be just. It would be her deserts.
'Don't,' Alys said softly. Hugo heard her assent and laughed. 'Little whore,' he said tenderly and nudged her forward, his penis pressing hard against her back. 'Alys, I think you long to see how low you can fall.'
Alys leaned forward over Catherine's big belly and nuzzled at the fat breasts and licked, with the tip of her tongue, at Catherine's nipples. The oil was sweet and pungent, it furred Alys' tongue. She felt trapped in a nightmare of heady sickly tastes and new forbidden sensations.
Catherine shuddered with pleasure at the touch of Alys' tongue, and took Alys in her arms. She snatched at Alys' hand and pushed it down between her legs. Alys, flinching with contradictory repulsion and lust, felt Catherine's bush of thick hair and then a deep slippery canal drenched in liquid, feeling her own thighs grow sticky and wet.
Catherine was breathing fast. Her hands pressed Alys' hand against her body more and more urgently. She arched her back and rubbed herself against Alys' hands, groaning as she did. Alys gave a little gasp of distaste and of desire. She was surrounded by Catherine and Hugo. Catherine squirming beneath her, Hugo bearing down on her from behind. The two of them were playing with her like two malicious cats with a mouse.
And at the same time Alys felt a leap of desire that she should be between them, that Catherine's hands should be pawing her, one at her breast, and one, horribly, delightfully, between her legs. That Hugo should be pressing himself at her back – as hard as a spear -probing between her legs, hard and slippery with her wetness, and then she felt Hugo rear up behind her and plunge himself inside her, at the same moment as Catherine snatched Alys' hand, ground her hot wet flesh against it and thrust it deep inside her.
Catherine and Hugo groaned together, repeatedly thrusting at the same time, as practised lovers reaching release together. Alys, hot with desire, suddenly frantic, twisted and turned between them, but Hugo slackened and stilled, grew small and released her.
Catherine rolled away, her breathing deep and easy, her face rosy and relaxed. Hugo dropped face down into the pillow with a deep sigh. Alys lay between the two of them, silently raging and unsatisfied. The small bones of her hand were aching where Catherine had crushed it against her flesh. Inside her body she was hot and sore, between her legs she was drenched and unsatisfied.
She looked from one to the other; they were both smiling, sated. Neither of them looked at her, neither of them cared whether or not she had any pleasure. The question of Alys' irritable, unsated desire was of no importance. Alys' sensation of drowning in corruption was of no interest. Catherine pulled the covers a little closer, her face slack with sleep and satisfaction. She slept. The fire crackled gently, the scent of lemon verbena was very sweet in the room. The three of them – the two naked pregnant women, and the half-dressed young lord – lay still. The lord and his lady slept.
Catherine came down for supper in the great hall, rosy in her pink and cream gown, her face smiling, fat as a pudding, her hair spread out over her shoulders, her appetite sharp. Hugo had her on his arm as they walked into the dining-hall and there was a shout of appreciation and welcome from all the diners. Alys took her old place at the women's table and cast a hard look around at all of them to warn them not to mock her for her return.
'Welcome back,' Eliza said irrepressibly.
Alys met her bright eyes with a cold stare. 'I am happy to dine with you, Eliza, and with you all,' she said levelly. 'But do not forget that I am carrying Hugo's son in my belly – something each one of you would give a year's pay for. Don't forget that when Catherine takes to her bed again I shall be sitting next to the old lord and that I am his favourite. Don't forget that I am Mistress Alys to you and every one of you. My fortunes may rise and fall, but even at their ebb they are higher than you could dream.'
All the women looked at their plates and supped their broth in silence. Alys let the silence go on and on. She watched Hugo. Half a lifetime ago it seemed that she had sat here with Morach beside her, and watched Hugo's ba
ck with a desire so strong that she had thought she would die of it. Now she looked at his shoulders and his neck and the set of his head with silent hatred.
'Are you not eating, Mistress Alys?' Ruth asked quietly.
Alys glanced down at her bowl. The broth had grown cold, thick lumps of grease floated in it. Alys took a sip of wine tainted with the metallic taste of the pewter cup. David the steward had seen that her place on the women's table was laid with pewter, like theirs. Glass was only for the top table, and she had lost her place there.
'I am not hungry,' she said briefly. 'I will ask Hugo to send me something to my room later.' She rose from the table and went to the high table, to the old lord.
'I wish to leave the table,' she said softly in his ear. 'I have some pains and I feel sick. I wish to go to my room.'
The look he turned on her was kindly enough, but he smiled as if he could see straight into her heart. 'Don't be envious, vixen,' he said softly. 'You come second to Catherine. We always told you that. Go and sit at your place and drink and eat from pewter. She will keep to her room again some time and you can queen it up here then. But when she chooses to eat with us in the hall where she belongs, you take your place at the women's table – where you belong.'
Alys glanced across at Hugo. He was listening to some jest a man was shouting to him from a table further down the hall. He caught the end of the riddle and threw back his dark head in a shout of laughter.
'No,' the old lord said, following her glance. 'There is no appeal against my decision. I am master here still, Alys. Go and sit where you are bid.'
Alys smiled her sweetest smile. 'Of course, my lord,' she said. 'I did not wish to spoil the good cheer and merry company at the ladies' table with my illness. But if you wish it, of course I will sit with them.'
Lord Hugh glanced back at the table and barked a sharp laugh at the four sour faces. They were straining to hear what Alys and the old lord were whispering about.
The Wise Woman Page 38
