by Alexa Aston
Apollo yearned to kiss her and assess her response. What would she taste like, feel like? Was there even a hint of compatibility? Perhaps they could be intimate and share pleasure, briefly setting aside their opposing politics and loyalties. His erection grew and pulsed.
So lovely. So sweet and soft. Soon to be his.
“I desire you, Aline,” he said, his voice low and deep.
“You do?”
“Yes. First, I want to kiss you.” Her lips parted, the sensual invitation spurring him on. “Then…we’ll see. What do you desire?”
Aline didn’t move away, but met his gaze boldly. And that gleam was back. Inquisitive. Clearly interested.
He angled his head slightly for better access to those soft, pink lips. Did she really want this, too, or was she using her feminine wiles to sway him to her cause? No matter, for she was willing. Ready.
They jumped apart as two young women entered, their arms laden with clothes, shoes and other feminine items.
If only they’d arrived a few moments later. He’d so wanted, nay, needed, to kiss Aline.
Apollo leapt away as if he’d been scorched. He’d been about to kiss her, though she hadn’t answered his question. And, she reluctantly admitted, she wished he had. His words, his nearness made her woman’s parts yearn for his touch. A traitorous need for succor and to be close to someone, even for a moment, filled her to overflowing. Would she ever feel welcome again? Be somewhere she belonged? Be cared for?
“Lady Aline, meet Medemoiselles Melisende and Jehanne,” Apollo said with a slight bow.
No surnames? A short blonde and a taller brunette nodded greetings. Their hair was piled loosely on their heads, and not contained by veils, wimples or even scarves. Black kohl outlined their eyes. Their tight-fitting gowns were immodest, and their sleeveless surcoats didn’t look like they were made to go over them.
She’d heard of women like these. Camp followers. Prostitutes or concubines. And been told they were sinners who gave themselves to men without marriage. For money.
Apollo knew their names. Her eyes narrowed. What else did he know of them? Not that she should care.
“I’m glad we had something blue, because of her hair and eyes,” Melisende said.
“Oh, yes. Would this one look best or the lighter shade?” Jehanne asked, holding up a gown in each hand.
Melisende and Jehanne didn’t seem fallen, evil or even different from other women. Did sin lurk behind their friendly demeanor, forming part of their deception? As someone considering a ruse of her own, she examined them with a critical eye. The two seemed genuine enough.
Melisende displayed a cloak lacking a fur lining or decoration of any kind. “And they’re all clean. Enough. No lice or fleas, at least.”
Aline tried to maintain an amiable expression despite the sad state of the garments they proffered. The women were trying to please and help her. Well, they’d been ordered to. Not quite the same.
She was a lady. Whatever the condition, she’d accept the clothing with the grace of a queen.
“Mademoiselle, do you prefer these leather slippers or the ankle boots? Though your feet look too small for either,” Jehanne added with a frown.
Their rapid chatter and high-pitched voices reminded her of chirping birds. Judging them when she knew nothing of their lives or what kind of women they were other than what she’d been taught felt wrong. Now that she was out from under her father’s rule, developing more of her own opinions would be easier.
At least her mind was free. One benefit the siege yielded. Finding some sunshine amidst the clouds felt good.
Apollo said, “I’ll leave you to choose.”
She had no response. The whirlwind of developments stunned her.
In minutes she was clad in a loose deep blue gown of middling wool with tight sleeves, which, in fact, did go well with her eyes. The slight odor of onions took a moment to get used to, and just the thought of lice and fleas made her itch. Who had worn this before? To do what? But being in actual, whole women’s clothes again made her feel a bit less strange.
“If only we had a necklace or earrings.” Jehanne sighed.
“Well, this way, all eyes will be on her,” Melisende replied.
This was almost like being with her friends. Almost.
“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance, Jehanne and Melisende.” She wanted to ask what their lives were like amidst the soldiers, but held her tongue.
Next she tried both pairs of shoes. The boots were bigger than the slippers with pointed toes, but also sturdier if she decided to or needed to flee. How sad that escape was so often in her thoughts. Sadder still that trying on garments for her wedding filled her with trepidation instead of joy or even resignation.
“You look so pretty,” Melisende said. “Your groom should be well satisfied.” She blushed. “With your attire.”
Were they right? Surprisingly, she wanted to satisfy her new husband. If she had to wed, wouldn’t it be in her best interest to do so? Why make things worse, which would also make her more miserable? On the other hand, if she appeared unattractive and acted disagreeably, maybe Apollo would find a way to set her aside after they left the army. But then, what fate would she face as an unwanted wife? He could set her aside and stash her in a convent, as Philip Augustus had done with his queen. For some, days of solitude and prayer might be preferable to being a baroness. Not for her. But a less bad choice wasn’t what she’d hoped for.
“My thanks,” she said.
“I wish it were spring so we could pick flowers to put in your hair,” Jehanne added.
They were as friendly and kind as could be, clearly trying to make the best of awkward and horrible circumstances, but she missed her mother, sisters Alice and Helen and brothers John and Roger more than ever. Her family and friends, not women she’d just met, were supposed to help her prepare for and share what should’ve been one of the most special days of her life.
The ache in her heart added to her sense of helplessness. She’d expected her father to tell her whom to wed, as was the case for most women of her rank. That was back when she loved and trusted him and had reasons to believe he’d make a good choice. She’d never considered the order of the man she had to wed might come from any enemy king.
Be grateful. Things could be far worse. True. Her groom could be cruel, old, ugly, or harbor any number of unpleasant traits in addition to being her foe. She should count her blessings at being handed to such a handsome and interesting man. Who smelled far more pleasant than the garments she now wore. She repeated the words again and again in her mind, hoping she’d feel their truth.
If only she hadn’t told Apollo her idea about faking her death. She didn’t like him doubting or thinking less of her. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. He was a victim, too. That odd mixture of desire and distrust in his gaze had made her sad. She wanted him to trust her, instead of being on edge and needing to keep an eye on her, wondering if she was going to run away or attempt some other drastic scheme. Had she ruined their fragile friendship?
Antoine entered. “It is time, Mademoiselle.”
Mademoiselle. The term that had defined her since her arrival in this country. In a matter of minutes, she’d become Madame. Her mouth was too dry to reply.
“If you will follow me, please.”
As he led her through the camp, she shivered violently, surely from a mixture of the wintry night air, soldiers’ curious or lewd stares and the enormity of the event about to take place. The clothing and cloak didn’t suffice to keep her hands and feet from being numb as her heart. If they reached Apollo’s new home, she might stay inside and build the biggest fire the fireplace would hold until spring was in full bloom. If she tried hard enough, she could almost hear the logs crack.
Antoine led her to a larger hut draped with rich, colorful fabrics, clearly the king’s, where a tonsured priest in a chasuble, Philip himself and Apollo waited. Also in attendance were a handful of soldiers, some
wearing mail, some not. No one introduced them. So she wasn’t allowed to know those who would witness her marriage. Melisende and Jehanne were the only other women present.
Apollo wore a red chainse under a blue belted tunic that fell to his knees, dark chausses and boots. His hair was slightly damp. His smile warmed her as she took her place beside him. He looked and smelled splendid. But even he couldn’t thaw her heart. Maybe someday. Maybe they could find a modicum of happiness. That hope and fear of reprisal were the only things keeping her in the hut.
Was his manner honest? She appreciated that Apollo was trying to make the best of this hasty wedding, but he also followed orders in the presence of his king.
If he’d been English and chosen for her before she came to Normandy, perhaps even before the siege, she’d have been most satisfied. What woman wouldn’t want a kind, intelligent and attractive husband, whether or not he, too, wanted love? Wanted her? Yet being forced to wed, and under these circumstances, was appalling no matter how worthy he seemed. He represented his king. The enemy who held her family hostage in a hostile, foreign land.
She envisioned being in her familiar church surrounded by familiar faces, not in a hut surrounded by strangers. In her mind, sun streamed through the colorful, tall and narrow stained glass windows and limned the stone walls with an array of jeweled lights. Her mother and siblings sat in the first pew wearing their finest garb, smiling. Her father’s face bore the love she’d cherished….
Apollo took her hand, jarring her back to the harsh present. His grip was strong. To support her or stop her from running? As they faced the priest, panic bubbled and heated to a boil, threatening to choke her. Aline took slow, deep breaths to calm herself, but felt worse instead. Her heart raced distressingly fast, and her head began to spin.
There had to be some control she could take over her life. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
Apollo gently squeezed his soon-to-be wife’s chilled hand, hoping to literally warm her to the idea of their marriage as he allowed pride to fill him.
Lovely and enticing in dishabille, Aline now looked a true lady. His first glimpse of her in actual clothing, though not of the quality her own would be, showed him another side of her that he liked. Regal. Elegant. Enticing.
Yet he couldn’t wait to take off those garments one by one and explore every secret aspect of her. If she were willing, that is. Unfortunately, her tremulous smile didn’t reach her eyes. They were as cold as the ground outside.
As the priest welcomed everyone in his thin voice, Aline put a hand to her head as if it ached. She swayed. Apollo steadied her and shot her a concerned glance. Her smile wavered. Was this too much for her? Because she was still ill or that miserable about the wedding?
The priest intoned in careful English, which Apollo had requested to make Aline more at ease, “Sir Apollo de Norville, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, wilt thou love her and honor her, keep her and guard her, in health and in sickness, as a husband should a wife, and forsaking all others on account of her, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Apollo replied, his voice low and sure. Though a twinge of guilt nipped, because he wasn’t completely certain given her doubts and his own. Going forward seemed the best, if the only, course. No matter how much his life would change.
Now it was her turn.
Chapter Six
Now it was her turn.
Each word of Apollo’s vows was another stone in the walls of her new prison.
The silence stretched, and the import of all of the men’s gazes bore down so hard she wanted to shrink and disappear. Apollo and the others frowned as they waited for her to say her vows.
Aline didn’t like deceiving him, but focusing on what was at stake for both of them gave her courage.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, then collapsed. Her hip and head hit the floor with loud thuds, painful reminders of her first effort to get out of Apollo’s bed. She hadn’t intended to land so hard. Well, at least her act would be all the more convincing. Biting back a moan as pains pierced her, she lay motionless with her eyes closed and made sure her breathing was shallow.
“Aline. Aline!” Instantly she sensed Apollo by her side. His now-familiar scent formed a cloud of guilt as he put a hand on her cheek, then shook her gently. Misleading him hurt more than her hip, but she didn’t move or open her eyes. “Fetch the physician. I don’t think she has a fever,” he said in rapid French.
Someone swore, also in French.
“Oh, no! Poor thing,” Jehanne said.
Throbbing agony was what she deserved. But Apollo hadn’t agreed to find a way for her to return to England, nor had he come up with another idea to avert this marriage. There might be unpleasant ramifications if she faked her death, she had to find a way to go through with her plan. She simply couldn’t marry this man she didn’t know, no matter how attractive, intriguing or desirable she thought him. No matter that she already liked and wanted to get to know him. To kiss him. And more.
Finding a way to follow their own paths would be better for both of them in the long run.
If she succeeded, she’d never see Apollo again. The thought of giving him up added more to her suffering than she’d expected. But she just couldn’t be bound to a Norman. Or bear and raise children outside of her beloved England.
Someone smelling of garlic, the physician, she presumed, poked and prodded her. Remaining silent and still wasn’t easy, especially since she didn’t know what he’d touch or do next. She heard rustling sounds, then inhaled something smoky that stung her nose and throat. Only barely did she manage not to jerk away in a fit of coughing.
“Hmmm. Since the burned feathers failed to revive her, the next course of treatment is to realign her humors with bloodletting,” the physician said. More rustling. Some clanking. “I brought my fleams with me. Very well. I’m ready to cut.”
Cut? She couldn’t allow and wouldn’t be able to stay still for that. Her faint had lasted long enough. Had it done the trick?
She opened her eyes slowly, but didn’t speak. No need to overdo her “ailment” by being unconvincing, making excuses or spewing lies that might catch her in their web.
“Ah, the bride has awoken,” said the physician, a rotund man with gray eyebrows and a bald pate. He struggled to rise. “Lady Aline, do you know where you are?”
Aline nodded. A mistake. She could’ve acted as though she didn’t understand him.
“Excellent.” He clapped his pudgy hands. “I suggest you rest for a few hours before the ceremony resumes.”
Now that was good advice. If only he’d also prescribed a few days of rest. She’d purchased a few hours to plan. Would they suffice?
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and her stomach roiled. Her misery was real.
“Can you walk?” Apollo asked. From the worry on his face, she didn’t think he’d guessed her ruse.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. Satisfaction at successfully delaying the wedding waned. “Yes.”
He extended a hand, reminding her of the moment they met. Slowly he raised her to her feet and back to his hut. She took off her borrowed, uncomfortable boots and sat on the bed with her legs curled beneath her for warmth.
“Aline, how do you feel?” He sat beside her.
Grateful for the reprieve. She couldn’t say that. And, because of the concern in his gaze, remorseful. She couldn’t say that, either. “A bit better, thank you.” At least that was true.
“Good. I was worried.” He took her hand.
Could he be coming to care for her? Did she want him to?
A flood of fresh guilt rushed over her, stinging and hot. “I have to tell you something. I fainted on purpose.”
“What?” He looked more hurt than surprised.
Disappointing him made her feel ashamed. She squeezed his hand. “I never understood the value of freedom until my father insisted I join him in France. Philip is your king, n
ot mine. You say I’m not a prisoner, yet I can’t go or make decisions. You can’t gainsay him. He may be able to force me to marry you or do who knows what else, but as long as I can think of ways to prevent him from controlling me while evading punishment, I will keep trying.”
Oh, no. Telling him the truth was one thing. Why hadn’t she stopped talking before sharing every thought in her head? Because she didn’t want him to think ill of her. She wanted him to know who she was.
“I see.” Apollo nodded and pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunate. I wasn’t keen about being ordered to marry…you or anyone. I’m choosing to believe we can make the best of this. You’re close to my age, beautiful, well-formed and intelligent. You’re not shy. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together so far, despite the war and how we met. That’s more than many couples who don’t choose their spouses are offered. I’m willing to put forth every effort to find as much satisfaction in being a lord as I did as messenger, though I desired neither the rank nor the position. All I’m being offered, all we can have, will be enough for me. Why can’t it be enough for you?”
She stood and paced the small hut. “You know why. Because you’re Norman. I’ve enjoyed being with you thus far, too. I’m beyond grateful for all you’ve done. And you seem to have the qualities I’d wish for in a husband. You’re handsome, kind and even caring. Full of integrity. To be honest, I’m enamored with your voice.
“What I can’t set aside is the fact that we are born and sworn enemies. If that alone weren’t enough, your lord, your king, holds my family and friends under siege. And he may kill some or all of them.
“He also held me under siege, and those in his employ refused to let me and the others through…and left us outside for months. How do I know he’ll keep his word where either of us are concerned? Do you know he had his soldiers attack the town of Petit Andely? That’s why my father allowed nearly two thousand people inside the chateau, to save them. That meant almost five times as many living on our rations. Phillip had allowed hundreds of civilians to leave, so we thought he’d let us go, too. You know the rest.
