Wrapping her in his embrace, he bent his head to match her lips with his. The sweet, subtle fragrance enfolding her body surrounded them, engulfing his senses. For a moment he wasn’t even certain of who was seducing whom, so strong was his desire.
Isabelle shivered, but it was neither from cold nor from fear. His bare chest had suddenly become crushed against her naked breasts. She could have never imagined such a sensation in her wildest dreams. The effect of skin upon skin was enthralling. With a deep sigh she stretched her body just slightly, now concentrating upon his kiss, which seemed equally wonderful. It didn’t seem to matter that he was not the handsome Norman knight of her dreams. Although she had never been kissed before Hugh had come into her life, she knew with some primitive instinct that he was very good at what he was doing. Somehow she managed to slip her arms up and about his neck, drawing them into even closer proximity.
With a groan he surprised her, drawing away. “Ahhh, ma Belle, you could tempt a saint from the path of heavenly virtue with that divine mouth of yours.” Tipping her back in his arms, he ran a finger across her lips. “I have so much to teach you, ma douce,” he murmured, his smoky silvery-blue eyes causing her to flush with the heat of his ardor. Then he gently stood her on her feet.
Isabelle blushed to the roots of her golden-red hair as her soft linen chemise fell to her ankles, exposing all of her charms to his eager eyes. When he stood and his garment fell away, too, she colored even more. Unable to restrain herself, she stared at him. While seeming a trifle awkward in his clothing, he seemed very well made without them. His limbs were long, big-boned, and nicely fleshed. He had extremely shapely legs for a man. They were covered with a light golden down, far lighter than his dark blond hair. His bush was the same, almost iridescent color. It glowed like golden threads, tightly curled, drawing attention to his maleness. Her eyes widened at the sight, and then with a small cry she turned her head away.
“I have never seen a naked man,” she explained, although it was hardly necessary that she do so.
“Are you shocked?” he asked her.
She shook her head in the negative. “I think your body … beautiful,” she finished. “Oh, ’tis not the word I want, but I know no other way to say it. Handsome is wrong, for you are not handsome, my lord. Besides, faces are handsome, not bodies.”
He laughed softly. “I think all of you beautiful, ma Belle,” he told her. Then he took her face between his hands and began kissing her again. How had he become so fortunate as to gain this marvelous girl as a wife? Isabelle was a form of the name Elizabeth. He would name the church he had promised to build St. Elizabeth in thanksgiving for his lovely bride.
His fervent kisses made her head spin. Feeling her legs beginning to weaken, she cried out softly. Hugh caught her in his arms, his tawny head seeking out the curve of her throat which she had innocently presented to him as her head fell back. His hot, wet mouth plotted a slow, deliberate course across and down her straining throat. He buried his lips in the hollow of her neck, murmuring low, then moved on to kiss the tops of her breasts. His hands slipped to her waist, and lifting her up slightly so that she was suspended above his mouth, he began to tongue her hard, little nipples.
“Ohhh, Holy Mother, I can bear no more!” Isabelle cried out involuntarily, hating herself as she did. He would surely think her a coward and despise her for it.
Hugh, however, cradled her in his arms, and walking across the chamber, laid her gently upon their bed, climbing in next to her. “Do not be ashamed,” he said quietly to her. “You are so new to passion, ma Belle. It is a strong thing. Soon you will not fear it, but welcome it. My desire for you is already great, but I want you to know pleasure, too.” He began to gently stroke her body with his big hand.
When her heart had finally stopped pounding so violently and she could find her voice again, she asked him, “Will we couple, you and I, my lord? I have not told you the whole truth. Once, before my brother Richard returned to Normandy, I saw him couple with one of the serf girls. He did not know I saw him. It was in the stables. I had gone to fetch my mare. While I was saddling her, Richard came into the stable with the girl. They did not see me. He forced her against a wall, pushed up her skirts, loosened his clothes, and had at her. The noises she made frightened me, but when he had finished with her, he gave her a quick kiss, and laughing they went off together. I could not really see what they did. Did he hurt her? Her cries were terrible. Yet she seemed content enough when Richard had finished with her.”
“Your brother coupled with the girl,” Hugh agreed, “but he did not hurt her. Her cries were of satisfaction, not pain or fear.”
“Will I cry out like that?” Belle wondered aloud.
“If I please you, aye, ma Belle,” he whispered, the tip of his tongue finding the whorled shell of her ear. He then blew softly, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I think you are possibly a wicked man, my lord,” Belle said softly, and then, “Will you make me a wicked woman?”
“Very wicked,” he murmured back at her. Rolling onto his side, he bent his head and began to kiss her breasts.
“Ahhhhhh,” Belle sighed nervously.
His mouth closed over a nipple and he began to suckle upon her.
“Ohhhhhh!” she cried as lightning seemed to scorch her very soul. His lips were so insistent as they drew upon her flesh, demanding the unknown from her. She reached out to pull him away, but instead her hand tangled itself in his tawny hair, pressing his head deeper into her bosom. Her breasts were beginning to ache. A strange throbbing had begun somewhere in the place between her thighs. Isabelle moaned, and suddenly his other hand was caressing her belly, his fingers seeking knowingly toward the pulsation, finding it, touching it, sending a shock through her body such as she had never known. She arched herself upward to meet him, almost weeping with relief, although she could have not told anyone why. She did not know herself.
“Do not be afraid, chérie,” he told her gently. “I must prepare you to take my manhood within your sweet virgin’s body. This,” he stroked the palpitating little nub of flesh with his finger, “is your pleasure pearl. If I touch it so …” and she cried out sharply, “you will feel delicious sensations, n’est-ce pas, ma douce?”
“Yessss,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Ohh, my lord, it is sweet! Do not cease, I beg you!”
With a smile she could not see in the darkness of their chamber, he tenderly began to play with her. His efforts were rewarded with little mewlings that told him he was succeeding in his endeavors.
“I want to pleasure you,” Isabelle said suddenly, attempting to sit up, but he pushed her back onto the pillows.
“Not just now, chérie,” he told her thickly. Silencing her protest with a kiss, he slipped a finger into her female channel until it touched her virgin shield, and she cried out, her head pulling away from his. Her passage was narrow, but it would widen to take him, he knew. Catching her hand, he drew it down to his manhood.
Her slender fingers ran along its length, her sharp intake of breath audible in the half darkness. “This is your desire?” she asked him tremulously. “It seems very big, my lord.” The heat of his flesh was exciting. Her heart had begun to beat a fierce tattoo. Afraid, she would never admit to it. He had promised her pleasure, and she did not think him a liar. Besides, the aching and throbbing of her own body was growing by the minute. Intuitively she knew that only the joining of their bodies would give them both the release they seemed to crave. “You may have me, my lord,” she said. “I am ready, but you must tell me what you desire of me, for you understand my ignorance.”
She is so brave, he thought proudly. He could feel her terrified heart thumping beneath his head, which lay upon her breasts. Best to end the mystery so that their time might be better spent in pleasuring each other. That she had not become hysterical to his advances, that she was not coldly indifferent to him, portended a warm heart. “Spread your legs open for me, my douce,” he ordered her, slippi
ng himself between her rounded thighs when she obeyed him. Carefully he positioned himself, moving forward, pushing himself gently into her body, now both eager and fearful. The walls of her passage began to envelop and close about him. Her heat burned his flesh.
Isabelle tensed at his entry. She could feel her body opening like a flower, seemingly anxious to accommodate him. She was frightened, and at the same time very excited. She had never felt more aware in her entire life. Yet the sensuous rhythm he was initiating between them was beginning to send her senses reeling. Her fingers dug into his big shoulders, both clinging to him and encouraging him onward. Onward to what? “Please!” she begged him. “Please!”
In answer to her pleas he drew back and thrust hard, burying his manhood to its hilt within her sheath. A quick burst of pain radiated into her belly and thighs, paralyzing her for a brief moment, causing her to gasp with shock. Then it was gone. To her great surprise she began to weep wildly, and he comforted her as best as he could, caressing her, kissing the tears away. Hugh began to move on her once he was certain the pain had dissipated, thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing until Isabelle was gasping with obvious, open pleasure.
The pain had been sudden, and sharply hurtful, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving her wondering if it had really happened at all. Then he had begun that incredible motion, and her own body was responding in kind. She was floating. She was flying. It was wonderful! Her body seemed to swell, burst, melt all in a moment’s time, and when it was over she begged him, “More, my lord!”
With a contented laugh he pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her very tousled head. “Oui, chérie, there will be more for us both, but first a little rest that we may regain our strength.”
“I am now truly your wife, Hugh Fauconier,” Isabelle said.
“You are truly my wife,” he agreed. “When the storm is over, I shall send my squire to the king to tell him so. Father Bernard wishes to remain at Langston. We will need the king’s permission. Will it please you to have a priest here?”
“Aye, my lord. What good is a church without a priest?” She snuggled against him, content for the first time in her life. “He will teach me to read and write so I may be a better chatelaine. He will be here to baptize the children when they come.”
“Do you like children?” he asked her.
“I do not know, my lord,” Belle admitted with a chuckle. “I have never had any. If they are like my brothers, however, I do not think I will like them at all.”
“They will be like us, ma Belle,” he said softly. “One day we shall go to the West Country, and you will meet my grandparents. They will tell you what I was like as a lad. But first I will go myself and bring back my birds. Langston is a good place to raise my hawks. Can you hawk?”
“We never had any birds,” she admitted. “Will you give me my own merlin, my lord? And teach me how to hunt with her?”
“I promise, chérie. You shall have your hawk,” Hugh told her.
“I trust you, my lord,” Belle answered him. “So far you have kept your promises to me. I believe I am even beginning to like you.”
With a laugh Hugh pulled his bride into his arms, and began to kiss her quite passionately once again. “And I am beginning to like you, too, hellion,” he rejoined.
Chapter 5
The snow continued through the night and into the following day. Hugh and Isabelle did not emerge from the solar until the midday meal. The bride looked arch, the bridegroom sated and quite pleased with himself, Rolf noted with a chuckle. They ate heartily, speaking little. Then, after the meal, they disappeared hand in hand back into the solar. The hall emptied as everyone went about their afternoon tasks. Alette sat at her loom while Rolf was settled, his sword across his knees, honing the blade to his satisfaction.
Suddenly, Alette began to weep noisily, her face in her hands as she sobbed. “Ohh, my poor child,” she said. “My poor child!”
Rolf set his sword aside and hurried to her side. “Lady, what is it that troubles you? Do not weep, I beg you!” He knelt next to her, trying to brush her tears away with his large hand.
Alette cried all the harder.
Not knowing what else to do, Rolf put his arms about the woman, comforting her with soft words, stroking her fair hair gently. “Do not weep, sweetheart,” he begged her. “I cannot bear to see you unhappy. Just tell me what has distressed you. I will do my best to make it better, Alette.” He held her tenderly.
“They did not come from their chamber until it was time to eat,” Alette sobbed. “Then he dragged her back into the solar after they ate. My poor daughter! He must be using her cruelly. I would not have thought Hugh Fauconier that base. I can do nothing to help my child. Oh, Isabelle! I should have warned you! I should have warned you.” Alette looked up at Rolf, and his heart almost broke when she said, “She will never forgive me! How could she?”
Rolf had known that Alette’s late husband had not been a particularly kind man; but now he was certain that Robert de Manneville had been a brutal lover who had terrified his wife. Hugh was not that sort of man. “Lady,” Rolf said in kindly tones, “your daughter is a happy woman, I swear it! Did you not look at her when she came with her lord to the meal? She glowed with happiness. Hugh is a kind man. He should never misuse a woman. You are mistaken in your assumptions.”
“Am I?” Alette’s blue eyes were grave as they looked at him. “Why were they not up with the dawn and about their usual business? Why did he take her back into the privacy of the solar if not to use her over and over again?” She shivered with distaste, realizing as she did that Rolf’s arms were about her.
“The lady Isabelle did not look either abused or unhappy,” Rolf said softly, seeing her confusion and removing his arms from her person. “I have known Hugh since we were children. We shared our first woman, and have had many adventures together. He is a gentle lover. Women have always enjoyed his attentions. So I believe it to be with your daughter, my lady Alette.” Rolf remained kneeling by her side where he might make eye contact with her.
Her blue eyes looked at him disbelievingly. “Enjoy that? “she whispered. “How could any decent woman enjoy a man’s lust?”
“I think she could if it were co-joined with her own,” Rolf replied. “Have you never felt lust for a man, my lady Alette? Not even once?”
“I was fourteen,” Alette explained candidly, “when I was married to Robert de Manneville. Because I was orphaned young, I lived with my aunt and uncle until I was ten. Then my cousins and I were incarcerated within a local convent where we were to remain until suitable marriages were arranged for us. We saw no man there but the ancient priest who heard our confessions and administered the sacraments to us. I knew Robert de Manneville only by sight as a child for he was one of my family’s neighbors. There was no courtship. He was a virtual stranger when I married him. I have known no man but Robert de Manneville. I am ashamed to say I never felt anything for him except perhaps fear, and loathing.”
“He was cruel to you,” Rolf said. It was a statement, not a question.
Alette gazed at him through bleak eyes. Then to his surprise she began to speak further, telling him of the horrors she had endured on her wedding night and the nights that followed, until she was mercifully relieved of her spousal duties by her pregnancy. And of afterward, when Robert de Manneville could not function with her in a normal manner, and held her responsible for his failure. She spoke of his cruelties, of the beatings she endured at his hands. Finally drained, Alette grew silent once more.
After a long moment Rolf said to her, “If you were my wife, Alette, I should treat you with respect and use you gently. I would teach you to sing with joy at my touch. You should never be afraid again, if you were mine.” He was shocked by what she had confessed to him. Many men of his generation had a tendency to be over-rough with their women, but neither he nor Hugh had ever been deliberately cruel to the fairer sex. To take a maiden’s virginity while forcing h
er over the neck of a horse was horrific. He wanted a chance to prove to Alette that not all men were brutal; that passion could be sweet.
“I will never marry again even if the king commands me to do so,” Alette said with grim determination. “I should die before I placed myself into the keeping of another man.”
“But Hugh Fauconier is now lord of Langston,” Rolf reminded her. “You are already in his charge, my lady Alette.”
“He will not distress me if I keep his house well, Rolf de Briard, nor will I be forced to serve his baser desires. That, alas, my poor Isabelle must do.” Suddenly she was very aware again of his close proximity to her. Alette flushed nervously, and seeing it, Rolf arose from her side where he had been kneeling.
“Hugh will never send you away, lady,” Rolf told her, “but you will have no real place in this household once your daughter takes up her rightful duties. What will you do then? You are yet young, and you are far fairer than your daughter.”
“You should not say such things to me, Rolf de Briard,” Alette chided him. “You are, I think, too bold a man.”
“Nay,” he said with a slow smile. “I have certainly never been called too bold, madame, rather the opposite; but I now give you fair warning that I mean to court you. My lord Hugh has absolutely no objections, for I have already expressed my admiration of you to him. I shall prove to you, ma petite Alette, that not all men are uncaring and cruel. I shall teach you to crave my touch, to enjoy it when we make love. You shall be my wife, and only my loyalty to Hugh Fauconier and King Henry will take precedence over my love for you. What say you to this?” His look was warm, his voice firm with his resolve.
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