by Amy Tolnitch
Giselle had just finished choking down a few bites of food when there was another tap of the door. “Enter,” she called, hoping it was simply Nona checking on her.
Instead, Lady Amice walked in. “Giselle, how are you feeling? Nona said you were still too fatigued to come down for supper.”
“I—”
“But I have a feeling that is not the whole of it,” Lady Amice continued as she sat on a stool.
“My lady, all of this … has been most unsettling to me.”
Lady Amice sent her a gentle smile. “Aye, I realize that. Your Padruig seems to be a fine man, though. You are most fortunate it was he who found you.”
“Yes, I am.”
“He spoke to me of your concerns about your marriage to Piers. I thought perhaps it would help to talk to another woman about it.”
Giselle tried in vain to calm her suddenly racing heart.
“Do you know aught of what happens between man and wife?” Lady Amice asked.
Giselle gulped some wine and shook her head. “My lady, as you know, I spent most of my life at Kerwick Abbey. I never expected to marry.”
Lady Amice’s smile widened into one filled with knowledge and mystery. “Marriage can be a wondrous thing. And Piers is a fine man.”
“I … I do not know him, my lady.” Giselle’s voice came out in a whisper, and she felt the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes.
“Piers is a good man.”
Giselle merely stared at her and sipped more wine. “It is more than that, my lady. You do not understand. God demands more of me than to give in to … temptation.”
“Temptation can be a good thing. Have you ever seen a man? All of him?”
“I …” Giselle started to shake her head, then realized she had seen the part Lady Amice undoubtedly referred to. She started to tremble. “In the forest, the men, one of the men let down his braies. It was horrible.”
Lady Amice’s expression changed to concern. “You must not equate that … whoreson’s treatment with the loving intentions of your husband.”
“He did not … Giselle dimly realized she should be shocked at Lady Amice’s language, but thought her description more than apt. “Padruig slew him before he could,” she gulped, “do more.”
“Thank God.” Lady Amice rose and patted her on the shoulder. “You must trust Piers in this matter. Joining with your husband can be a very pleasurable experience, Giselle.”
Giselle couldn’t help it, a hysterical giggle burst from her throat. “I have heard Piers has much experience in the matter.”
“Aye.” Lady Amice gave a soft laugh. “That he does, indeed. And now, ’Tis to your benefit.”
“Benefit?” Giselle sobered. “I cannot see it that way, my lady.”
Lady Amice sighed. “I understand this is difficult for you, Giselle, given your background, but you are to be wed. The joining of a man and woman’s bodies is part of that.” She winked. “At times, the very best part.”
“Is it not a sin to seek pleasure in mating? Is not our purpose to create life, no more?” Giselle fingered her rosary.
“That is what you have been taught?”
“Aye.” Giselle’s chin came up. “That is all I know, my lady. That is all I am allowed to believe.”
“You are embarking on a new future.”
“I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot change everything I believe in the span of a few days.”
“I have a feeling Piers is just the man to change your mind,” Lady Amice said with a last pat on Giselle’s shoulder. “Trust in him, Giselle.”
Trust? Giselle thought as Lady Amice shut the door behind her. How was she to trust a man she scarcely knew, a man who was only reluctantly wedding her because he didn’t know what else to do with her? A man who had coolly informed her that, once wed, she was his property to deal with as he saw fit.
You were born of wickedness, the Abbess had ofttimes told her. Perhaps it was as simple as that. No matter how many prayers she said, maybe to be bound to a man who would never love her was her true penance.
Giselle dropped her head into her hands and gripped the smooth stones of her rosary tight. If this truly was God’s will, she had no choice but to accept it, yet deep inside, her heart cried out at the unfairness of it all.
Lady Amice could not understand Giselle’s dilemma. Amice glowed with anticipation of holding her babe conceived in love.
Giselle blinked as images tumbled into her mind like pebbles scattered by a raging current.
Lady Amice lay upon tangled, sweat-soaked sheets, her beautiful brown eyes glazed with pain. Red splotches marred her beautiful face, and her fists clutched the sheets so tightly her knuckles were white. “Aid me,” she pleaded to a woman Giselle had never seen. “Save my babe.”
The woman shook her head in sorrow.
“Do something,” Lady Amice ordered, just before she shrieked in pain. Lines of sweat streamed down her cheeks.
“There is nothing more I can do. The babe will not come.”
“Damn you,” Lady Amice cursed. “My babe will come.”
A servant tried to press a cup of wine to Lady Amice’s lips but she batted it away. “Get the earl,” she said over a short breath. “Now.”
The servant fled the room.
Silence descended over the chamber, the woman, apparently the midwife, peering between Lady Amice’s splayed legs, her expression resigned. With a great whoosh of breath, Lady Amice fell silent. Her eyes filled with helpless tears.
Giselle had not seen the final outcome of her vision, but dread coiled in her belly and the stark expression of agony in Lady Amice’s eyes bored into her.
Both the lady and the babe were fated to die.
Dear Lord, what more could happen? she wondered, catching her breath on a sob. Have I so offended you, Lord? Am I truly so tainted, so foul inside that I have brought all of this upon myself? Upon a woman who has been nothing but kind to me, despite her devotion to the old gods and goddesses, instead of you, the one true God?
There was no answer. There never had been.
“Do you, Lady Giselle,” Father Michael paused and glanced down at Giselle’s frozen face, “freely give your body to Piers Veuxfort in holy matrimony?”
Dear Lord, how was this happening? She looked at Piers from beneath her lashes. He stared straight ahead, his expression one of a man facing certain doom. She recognized the look, sure her face appeared the same.
“Giselle?” Father Michael murmured.
In her mind, Giselle saw the metal bars of a cell slam shut. “I do,” she whispered.
“And I receive it,” Piers clipped.
“And do you, Piers Veuxfort, freely give your body to Lady Giselle in holy matrimony?”
“I do.”
Giselle swallowed and forced the words out. “And I receive it.” Father Michael took their hands. “I bestow the blessing of the Lord upon this union. May your life together be long and fruitful.”
He squeezed Giselle’s hand, but she barely felt it, as if all of this were happening to someone else. Piers said not a word, but guided her into the chapel, where they took seats in front for the mass.
As Father Michael performed mass, Giselle tried to find comfort in the rhythm and words of the service, but for the first time in her life, could not. She couldn’t think of anything but the fact that she was now married to Piers Veuxfort, a man who wanted her no more than she wanted him.
He sat close enough beside her that she could smell his scent, feel the warmth of his body. She stared down at his long fingers and shivered. Would he want to consummate the marriage right away? Though she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, everything inside her recoiled from the idea.
Please, Lord, help me get through this, she silently prayed as Father Michael droned on. Give me strength.
Piers gave his bride a sideways glance and grimaced. The girl was near to trembling, her face downcast, her hands gripped tightly around a rosary. He was surprised she hadn�
�t dissolved into tears by now.
God, what a tragic farce this was, he thought. He felt as if he were attending his own funeral, instead of a wedding. He half-listened to Father Michael finishing the mass and wondered how he was going to get through the wedding feast, let alone deal with the girl afterward.
A virgin, Eikki whispered. Just think of it. All of that beautiful innocence yours to plunder.
Shut up, Piers thought with a frown. He stood and took Giselle’s arm. When they turned, a sea of faces studied them. Piers tried to paste a light smile to his face, but knew he’d failed completely when he met his brother’s gaze.
Of all people, Cain knew the price one could pay for following duty. His own path had led him into marriage with a perverse adulteress, after which he’d closed himself off so well it was nothing short of a miracle he’d come to his senses in time to avoid losing Amice. Amice stood to his side looking only slightly less somber than her husband.
“Come, Giselle,” Piers said.
The girl didn’t respond, but began walking at his side.
Piers wanted to groan aloud as they led the wedding guests into the great hall. He seated Giselle, then gratefully took his own seat and filled his cup to the brim with wine.
Gifford slapped him on the back. “I never thought I would live to see the day you were wed, boy.” He and Saraid took seats along the table. “A true vision of loveliness you are, Lady Giselle.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she answered in a subdued voice.
Piers poured her wine as the others found their seats. A group of musicians picked up a song and servants carried in platters of food. “You are recovered from your journey?” he asked.
Her face flushed pink. “Aye.”
She probably thought he was asking her if she was well enough to bed, Piers thought. Clarise bent around him and set a platter of fish in a wine sauce on the table, sending him a warm smile. He saw Giselle stiffen at the woman’s friendly manner.
And then, to Piers’s surprise, Giselle looked directly at him. “Thank you for coming to search for me. And for …” She waved a hand. “I know ‘twas not your wish.”
“We are wed now, Giselle. We shall have to find a way to make it work.”
“You … will you …” her voice trailed off to nothing and she took a deep drink of wine.
He knew what she was asking. “Aye,” he said softly.
Fear flitted across her features.
Could it be simple fear that made her fight against the marriage? he wondered. Had someone told her things to make her afraid of what happened between a man and a woman? He leaned close, finding his gaze caught by her full lips. “Do not be afraid, Giselle. I can be a gentle lover, and I am not without skill in bringing a woman pleasure.”
Her face paled and she swayed on her stool. “I … you should not be speaking thus to me.”
“Why not? You are my wife.”
Her hand shook as she brought the cup of wine to her mouth. “I know nothing of such things, my lord.”
“You will.” He smiled at her and saw her cheeks heat once more. “And you shall enjoy it. I shall make sure of that.” A surge of optimism spiraled through him as he gazed at her. Gifford was right—she was indeed a vision of loveliness. An angel with the body of a temptress.
“The only purpose of such is to conceive a child,” she said, a trace of defiance in her voice.
“Is that what you have been taught?”
“Of course.”
“They lied,” he said calmly, taking a bite of the fish. He grinned at the expression of shock on Giselle’s face.
“The Abbess herself told me. Many times.”
“She knew nothing of the joy a man and a woman can take in each other, clearly.” Piers found he was gaining no little enjoyment from holding a discussion about mating with his timid bride.
“Piers!” Gifford called out. “Cease drooling over your bride and pass me that platter of mushrooms.”
Piers slid over the platter, and noticed Giselle had barely eaten a bite from their trencher. “Are you not hungry?” he asked her.
“Nay.” She clutched her cup to her as if it were a shield. “I would like to be excused, my lord, if you please.”
Amice stood and came up beside them. “I shall show Giselle to your chambers.”
“Thank you,” Piers said. He looked at Giselle. “I shall join you anon.”
Somehow, Giselle managed to stand on legs that felt filled with water instead of bones and tissue. She followed Lady Amice out of the hall and across a section of the bailey to another tower. They climbed up curved steps and emerged into a narrow corridor.
Amice put her hand to the small of her back and stretched. “I truly hope the babe decides to make her arrival soon.”
The memory of Giselle’s vision slammed through her mind. She’d been so immersed in the disastrous turn of her own life she’d briefly forgotten what she’d foreseen. Should she warn Lady Amice to take care? No, Giselle decided. Look at what her effort to protect Sister had wrought. But she would do what she could to change the course of her vision. “Do you feel well, Lady Amice?”
“Aye, but for the fact that I feel like a bloated sow.” She pushed open a door and walked in.
Giselle followed slowly, swamped with such nervousness she could barely hold it in. The chamber was large, with two shuttered windows like the ones in her chamber. Her former chamber, she thought with a lump of dread. A bed piled with blankets occupied the center of the room. Trunks lined one wall and pegs another, with two chairs and a fireplace in a corner. It was a fine chamber, she thought.
The door opened and Nona danced in, her eyes alight. “My lady, your husband sent me to aid you.”
Lady Amice leaned down. “Be happy, Giselle. Allow yourself to be happy as I am.”
Giselle watched her leave the chamber, thinking of the gulf of difference between them. It was clear Lady Amice deeply loved the earl, and his love for her was a palpable thing. Giselle had been driven into marriage to a man who’d made no secret of the fact he did not view her with any favor.
“My lady, we should hurry,” Nona said as she tugged at the lacings on Giselle’s bliaut. “I do not think the lord shall wait long.”
“What … what are you doing?”
Nona cocked her head. “Why, aiding you in disrobing, my lady.”
Giselle wildly looked around the room, her gaze landing on the wide bed. “But I have nothing else to wear.”
Nona kept unlacing. “Why would you wish to wear anything?”
Dread and fear pooled into a hard lump in Giselle’s belly. Chills rolled over her body, and she felt frozen, unable to say or do anything while Nona quickly divested her of her bliaut, undertunic, and hose. When she reached for Giselle’s chemise, she jolted back to herself. “Nay. I shall keep this on.”
Nona winked. “Not for long, I expect.”
Giselle fought back a moan.
“Sit, my lady, and I shall brush out your hair.”
Dear Lord, aid me, Giselle silently prayed as she sat. She was trembling so much she could barely raise her cup of wine.
“You have such lovely hair, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
Nona stood back and nodded. “There. You are ready.”
Ready? Giselle wanted to crumple to the floor and howl her pain. Rule number eleven, she reminded herself. Displays of emotion are coarse and vulgar. Serenity is a tribute to God.
“Thank you, Nona.”
The maid smiled and winked. “Enjoy your evening, my lady.”
With a thump of wood, the door closed, leaving Giselle in the chamber with only her churning thoughts for company. Dear God, how am I to get through this night?
The murmur of voices came from outside the door, and Giselle leapt to her feet. Would he bring others? Panic seized her and she jumped into the bed, drawing the blankets up to her chin and closing her eyes.
She began saying the prayers of the rosary, her mouth moving in a
soft whisper. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”
The door opened. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”
Piers stood in the doorway, and felt the day’s events crash down on him. His wife lay in bed like some kind of sacrificial maiden of old, clutching her rosary, eyes tightly closed, whispering prayers. He briefly considered returning to the hall and drinking wine until he passed out under the table, but knew he couldn’t.
He pulled the door closed and set the ewer of wine on the table. As he poked the fire and added wood, he heard Giselle’s whispering cease and sensed her watching him.
What did she think he was going to do? Leap upon her like a starving animal? Without turning, he stripped off his tunic and undershirt, hanging each on a peg. A soft gasp from the bed told him Giselle watched.
He sat in a chair and tugged off his boots and hose.
Another gasp came from the bed.
A spark of mischief lit his blood, and he removed his braies, tossing them onto the floor and stretching.
Absolute silence.
He turned toward the bed.
Giselle’s eyes were huge in her face, and even in the dim light he could see her red cheeks.
As he walked closer, she let out a little shriek and scooted farther across the bed away from him. When she did, he noticed she still wore her chemise. Unfortunately, he also noticed how her hair gleamed in the firelight. The blanket had slid down, revealing the swell of her breasts under the thin linen. His body responded immediately, and Giselle’s eyes widened even more.
“Giselle,” he said as he slid into the bed.
Her throat worked. “My lord?”
“We are wed now.” He leaned up against the headboard and studied her. By Saint George’s sword, the girl was trembling so much the bed shook with it.
“Aye, my lord.”
“You have my leave to call me Piers.”
“Uh, very well.”
Take her, Eikki’s voice urged. Order her to remove her chemise. Spread the wench’s legs and have her.
