Isabelle’s eyes were filled with tears, but her voice was strong when she answered him. “You are saying that you love me, Hugh, and I am right glad of it, for I love you, too!”
Their lips met, gently at first, and then fiercely as their passion built. Her lush mouth softened beneath his hard one, yielding, giving, until the kiss seemed without either beginning or end. His lips traveled over her straining throat, across her chest, her breasts. Isabelle sighed deeply, her hands brushing over his skin with little feathery touches. Her breasts felt swollen, enormous, near to bursting from their skin. When he tongued her nipples, she whimpered, for it actually hurt her. His teeth grazed over the tender flesh, and Belle moaned.
Now his head was moving lower down her torso. For a moment she stiffened, but then her body relaxed. This was her husband. Her love. Her Hugh. And he had never before been this bold with her. His mouth pressed a warm kiss in her navel and moved on across the taut flesh. She almost stopped breathing when he kissed the insides of both of her thighs, but then he moved on, trailing a ribbon of little kisses down her legs, finishing with each foot. Belle giggled nervously.
Hugh startled her, however, with his next action. Slowly, slowly, his tongue began to retrace the path his lips had but recently taken, moving from the tip of her toes, up her legs to the shadowed insides of her thighs. Pushing her limbs apart, he buried his head in the nest of blazing red curls, inhaling her special fragrance. Isabelle gasped, shocked, her head spinning wildly, but there was more to come. She felt him opening her, his tongue seeking, seeking. Seeking what?
“Ahh, Holy Mother!” she cried as he obviously found what he had sought and his tongue moved relentlessly back and forth over her little pleasure pearl, releasing myriad frenzied sensations that rendered her faint, but yet conscious to enjoy the delicious madness that was now permeating her body and soul. She thrashed beneath his sweet mouth, aching, flying, struggling to reach the crest of the mountain; and then her passion culminated in a violent crescendo that for a moment seemed to break her entire being open, rendering her helpless as the sweetness poured over her, and she wept.
At that moment he entered her, his manhood sweeping up her channel, filling her with throbbing warmth and life. He licked the tears from her cheeks, kissing her tenderly. He took her fiercely, driving himself and her hard, feeling the hot tightening of her. Then it seemed as if she were drawing him into her body so deeply that he thought she would swallow him entirely. He could feel her fingers digging, digging, into the flesh of his buttocks, her slender legs wrapping themselves about his torso.
“Belle! Belle!” he groaned. “You are killing me.” Then he felt himself swelling, ripening within her, followed by blessed relief as his passion burst itself, flooding her with his love. To his great surprise, he too wept.
She wrapped her arms about him, kissing his face frantically. “What else are you keeping from me, my lord?” she managed to gasp.
Hugh laughed weakly, rolling off her. “You are wonderful, ma Belle douce, my sweet wife. I adore you!”
She said nothing, instead drawing him to her to rest his head upon her breasts. He felt her kiss upon his hair, and then, arms about him, she grew still, her rhythmic breathing lulling him into sleep.
When he awoke just before dawn he found himself still in her arms. He had never, he realized, in all his life felt so safe, and so at home. “I love you, Belle,” he said low.
Surprising him, for he had thought her still asleep, she replied, “And I love you, Hugh.”
“How long have you been awake?” he asked her.
“A moment or two,” she said, “no more.”
Raising his head, he gazed into her eyes. “What would you like to do today, ma Belle? Would you like to see the bird I have chosen to be yours? She is a fine little merlin.”
Belle smiled, rolling onto her side, and nodded. “What other birds did you bring, my lord?” she asked. “Rolf has explained to me that you have both long-winged and short-winged hawks, but he said you would tell me the varieties you have.”
“I have brought two breeding pair each of gyrfalcons, peregrines, and merlins. These are the long-wings. The first two are quite large birds. They hunt small to medium-sized game, and all manner of waterfowl. The merlins are littler birds, and hunt small creatures, both winged and four-footed.” Now he rolled over and, pushing the pillows behind him, sat up. “I have two varieties of short-winged birds, goshawks and sparrow hawks. I have also brought a number of young birds, yet to be trained.”
“I want to see my merlin,” Belle said, climbing naked from their bed. “What is she like? Is she a good huntress?”
He laughed at her enthusiasm. “I shall tell you nothing, madame. You must see for yourself. You must first think of a name for her, for each bird has its own name to which it answers.”
They hurried to bathe the excesses of their passion away, and then dressed, stopping briefly in the hall to snatch pieces of bread with toasted cheese, which they quickly ate. Hugh’s three falconers were already about their business as they approached the mews. Several birds were set out upon the stone blocks, weathering. The falconers nodded politely to their master and mistress.
“I have brought my lady to see her merlin,” Hugh announced.
“Her be a fine little bird,” Alain said approvingly.
Hugh led Belle into the mews and over to a low perch where two small birds sat unhooded. Reaching out, Hugh took the larger of the two upon his hand. “Here she is, ma Belle.”
“She has few feathers,” Belle noted, her disappointment evident.
He laughed softly, so as not to startle the creature he held. “She was just born this spring, chérie. Her parents are magnificent, and she gives promise of being even better.”
“Why can I not have a fully grown bird?” Belle wondered.
“Because I want you to help with the training of your merlin,” Hugh said. “That means you must devise a whistle signal to which she, and no other bird, will answer. She must bond with you, and be yours alone. To do this with a bird, you must be a part of her training. Now, what will you name her? No one else may name her but you, ma Belle.”
Suddenly, the little falcon stretched her neck out and delicately nipped at Isabelle’s sleeve.
Startled, she drew back, but then laughed. “She has named herself, my lord. ‘Couper’ is her name. I think it appropriate.”
Hugh set the bird back on its perch. Couper, the French for nip. He chuckled. “Aye, ’tis a good name for her.”
“How am I to train her?” Belle asked. “I know nothing about hawks. My father once had a peregrine, but I was not allowed to touch it.”
“Couper,” he said, “has already been prepared for her training. Her talons have been trimmed. Some people seal a young bird’s eyes by temporarily sewing them shut. I do not. I prefer to use a hood.” He held up a small leather cap that he now fit over the merlin’s head. “She is quite used to it,” he said. “You can see the strips of leather with their brass ringed ends fastened about her legs. They are called jesses. The tiny bells attached to her feet allow the falconer to ascertain her movements.” He gently stroked the young bird. “Couper has already been taught to stand on a hand. Now, Belle, I want you to whistle a phrase of song. Then put your hand against the merlin’s chest, encouraging her to step on it. You must always whistle the same few notes, chérie. It is a signal between you. That way no one can steal your bird away from you, for it is not just the music itself that Couper will obey, it is your tone which cannot be imitated.”
Belle thought a moment, and then whistled four short, sweet notes while at the same time pressing her hand gently against the bird’s chest. The falcon hesitated, but Belle whistled her notes again, her hand insistent. Couper stepped upon the young woman’s hand, and Belle caught her breath in wonder, her hand reaching out to caress the merlin. The bird was dusky brown with a darker banded tail. She chittered softly at Belle’s touch, shifting herself nervously.
“Walk about with her,” Hugh commanded his wife, “and talk to her. She needs the reassurance of your gentle voice.”
“Oh, Couper,” Belle said softly, “you are such a beautiful little maiden, or at least you will be when you are fully feathered. I love you already. We are going to be great friends, are we not, ma petite? We will learn together, for I have never had a falcon, nor have you ever had a mistress, but Hugh says your parents are fine birds, so you must be a fine bird, too. It would not do to disgrace your family now, would it?”
Hugh watched the girl moving about murmuring to the young falcon. Now and again he could make out a word or two, but Belle’s conversation was for her merlin alone. Occasionally she would stroke the creature, who quickly became used to her light, gentle touch. Finally, after a few minutes had passed, Hugh said, “Bring Couper here, ma Belle. I want you to feed her. Lind,” he called to the young falconer, “bring the bucket.”
Isabelle turned, surprised, for she had not noticed anyone else in the mews before, but now she could see that both Lind and Faer were there. She blushed, thankful she had not been intimate with Hugh before strangers. “What is in the bucket?” she asked her husband, attempting to cover her confusion and shyness before Lind and Faer.
“Chicken,” Hugh told her. “Take a piece, and feed it to Couper.”
Lind held up the bucket, and Belle drew out a section of raw poultry, offering it to Couper, who greedily snatched it from her mistress’s hand using her beak and a single claw. She began to tear apart her breakfast while standing upon her other foot.
Isabelle laughed softly. “You are very greedy, ma petite,” she said. “You have, I can see, a great zest for life.” She allowed the bird to continue to perch upon her hand while it ate. When the falcon had finished her meal, Isabelle carefully placed her back upon her perch, crooning to her, telling her how good she was.
Hugh nodded his approval, his eyes meeting those of the two falconers, who nodded back at their lord, smiling. “There is a leash attached to the perch, chérie,” Hugh said to Belle. “Tie it to one of the rings and make it fast. That way Couper is unable to leave the mews, but the leash is long enough that she may fly, yet always return to her correct perch.”
Isabelle did as he bid her, and then together they left the mews to return to the hall. “Couper is wonderful!” she enthused. “I love her already, my lord. Thank you.”
“You have done very well for a first lesson, ma Belle, but the lessons will get harder, I warn you. Still, I think it important for you to train Couper yourself. It will teach you the value of the birds and the care that must be taken with them. Many,” he explained, “take the birds from their nests in the wild. That is far too simple, and depletes their population. It is harder to breed them and train them. The birds bred and trained by the Merlin-sone family are prized in both England and in Normandy because they are taught well. They are healthy. Each day from now on you will work with Lind to train Couper.”
“More lessons?” she teased him.
He smiled as they entered the hall. “Father Bernard tells me you write a fine hand now, chérie, and your reading skills grow with each passing day. I am proud of you.”
“I can both read and write in English and in French, my lord,” she said, “and soon I shall begin Latin. Father Bernard says I have a head for learning, unnatural as that may be in a woman. He grumbles greatly at me about it, but then he says he must continue to teach me else he might not be prepared when we give him children to teach. I am learning my numbers, too. It is far easier than when I had to keep everything in my head,” Isabelle admitted.
“You will be a fine chatelaine for Langston when I go to serve the king, and Rolf with me,” Hugh told her.
Belle stepped around in front of her husband, looking anxiously into his face. “Will it be soon?” she asked him.
He nodded. “I expect a summons any day now, ma Belle. As I came back across the countryside from Worcester, I heard much gossip. Many of the great Norman lords have already shown their disloyalty to King Henry. The king sent ships out in an effort to stop Duke Robert from his folly, but some of the captains have gone over to the enemy. For the moment, the brothers but spar with one another. Soon, however, there will be war; a war for England. I had hoped that this war would be fought in Normandy, but it would seem that King Henry will make his brother come to him, that he fight this battle on his own ground.”
“Then that is why Richard dared to come here,” Belle said, and then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Ohhh! I did not tell you!”
“Tell me what, chérie?” he asked her.
“I meant to tell you last night, but I was distracted in the bath, and then afterward.” Her eyes met his, and she could not help the giggle that escaped her. Then she grew serious. “While you were gone away, my lord, my brother, the Sieur de Manneville, came to Langston claiming to be its rightful lord. I sent him packing.” Then she explained.
“You did not even allow him the courtesy of remaining the night under our roof?” he said, astounded, and then he laughed. “You were wise, Belle. You did well.”
“That is what Rolf said,” she replied.
“How in all of this did you manage to get your mother to wed with my steward?” he inquired, more curious now than he had been before.
“When Richard saw he could not force his man upon me, he suggested the fellow marry my mother. I told my brother that Mother was already married to Rolf, and Father Bernard backed me up. Of course, after Richard had departed, my mother had no choice but to wed Rolf. Father Bernard swore it would be a blot on his immortal soul if she did not,” Belle finished, laughing.
“You trapped your quarry quite neatly,” Hugh approved. “I am glad you love me, ma Belle, and are not my enemy.”
“Oh, for all her protests to the contrary,” Belle said, “my mother is quite content to be Rolf’s wife. He is nothing like my father. The lady Alette will, I am quite certain, rule her roost without any interference from her besotted husband. We must soon send to Northamptonshire for stone to build them a house of their own, my lord.”
“I would attach it to the keep,” he said, “thereby making a second tower within the bailey. Its entry will be only through our hall, for safety’s sake.”
“That will take several years’ time to build, my lord,” Belle noted. “Can we not build them a house of wood until their tower is completed? With my mother’s child due between Christmas and Twelfth Night, we will soon be crowded out, particularly if I should have a child.”
“Are you with child?” he asked eagerly.
Belle shook her head regretfully. “Not yet,” she said sadly.
“You are young,” he told her. “There is time.”
“But what if you are killed in this war?” Belle suddenly cried.
“I will not be,” he said with such certainty that she believed him. “I have too much to live for, ma Belle, n’est-ce pas?”
Impulsively, she flung herself against his chest, silently imploring his reassurance and his comfort. “I will kill you, Hugh Fauconier, if anything should happen to you,” she told him with perfect illogic.
Three days later the king’s messenger arrived, summoning Sir Hugh Fauconier, lord of Langston Keep, and his steward, Sir Rolf de Briard, to the defense of England in King Henry’s name. They were to bring with them twenty men, trained and armed at Hugh’s expense. Their term of service would be until England was secured in King Henry’s name.
Chapter 8
They were alone again, Isabelle and her mother, but it was different this time. Different from this same time last year. Different from only five months ago. Now she and Alette were both married. Her father dead. Her mother expecting another child. One thing had not changed, however. Langston was still hers. Once again it had been left in her keeping, but now she knew how to husband it better. Now she had the support of Father Bernard. Hugh was gone, and Rolf as well. The two young squires she had not even gotten to know yet were gone, and tw
enty of Langston’s best young men with them. The knights and their squires had left upon horseback; the Langston men, archers all, on foot, their crossbows slung across their broad backs.
She watched them all go, looking into each familiar face as they stood in the bailey waiting to leave. How many of those familiar faces would not come home, she wondered mournfully, suddenly aware for the first time of how truly serious this all was. She had clutched her husband’s hand then, silently pleading with him to have a care, to come home to her. Isabelle could not ask him to remain. She knew it was impossible. She would not shame Hugh Fauconier publicly before Rolf and his men.
“Work every day with Couper. Lind will instruct you in exactly what you must do. I want to see great improvement in the merlin when I return home, ma Belle. We will hunt together, you and I.”
“Will this be a long war, my lord?” Belle wondered.
He shook his head. “I do not think so, chérie. While I am gone, however, I expect you to take good care of Langston, even as you have in the past. I will come back to you by autumn.” He brushed her lips lightly and then left her.
Midsummer’s eve came, and Belle gave the serfs a holiday from their labors that they might celebrate. The fields and gardens were lush with growth, and all signs pointed to an excellent harvest. At Langston there was no word at all as to what was happening. They were so far off the beaten track that unless a message was specifically bound for Langston, they were not likely to hear anything. In one sense Isabelle thought it was a relief; but in another it was torture.
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