Tears rolled down Desiree’s face. Alex bent over her, biting his lip. His hands came up to touch her, fell, came up once more. He began to wring them again.
“I am sorry. I am sorry. There was so much confusion. You do not know, but the aftermath of a battle is in some ways worse than the battle itself.”
“You fool! If I had not already been convinced that you were dead…”
Desiree’s voice drifted away. If she had not already been convinced that Alex was dead, Vachel’s lies would have stunned her. She would have been paralyzed by shock and grief. Likely she would have obeyed him in her despair. She would have been afraid of his knife. She would not have been thinking about suicide and too afraid of being damned so that Vachel’s threat came to her as a joyful promise.
Her pain had had a purpose. Christ or His Merciful Mother had made Alex too busy to send a messenger or she would now be dead, or worse than dead. She raised a hand and touched Alex’s face and laughed.
“Never mind, love,” she said. “Now I understand.”
He did not, but he breathed an enormous sigh of relief because she was no longer angry, and Eadgyth carried over a stool so he could sit by the bed. He took her hand as if he were afraid it would break and bent down to kiss it so he would not need to lift it and perhaps hurt her.
“I have Telscombe now,” he said. “If you are still willing to marry me—” his voice trembled and he bent and kissed her hand again “—I will ride to Roselynde and get leave from Sir Simon to take a wife.”
“No,” Desiree said.
Alex jumped as if she had struck him and seemed to shrink together. He began to release her hand, but she turned it and held his tight.
“Idiot,” she said, fondly. “We must marry at once, before you ride to Roselynde or go anywhere else.”
His eyes opened very wide. “But—”
“But me no buts. You know I have a quit-claim to marry where I please. I have already told you, and told Sir Simon also, that I please to marry you. Now I will marry you. Think of the trouble you already caused me by leaving me unwed. If Vachel had known we were already married, like as not he would never have come here and threatened me—and left me with a slit in my skin.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Stop saying you are sorry and go down and fetch Father Harold up here. He can marry us.”
“Desiree! No. We have no witnesses! To marry secretly in your bedchamber. Everyone will say I forced you.”
“Not to me…or not twice,” Desiree hissed.
Not so different from Lady Alinor. Alex laughed nervously. “You cannot go about sticking garden shears into the throats of everyone who annoys you.”
Desiree stared at him for a moment. “Do you not want to marry me, Alex?”
He bent and kissed her hand again. “More than life. I ache for you. But I could not bear it if anyone laughed at you for allowing a man like me—”
“Do you think any man will dare say that to you?”
Color rose to stain Alex’s cheekbones. “No,” he said shortly, and then echoing her, “At least not twice.”
Desiree laughed. “I can assure you the only words I will hear from women are words of envy, even if I must admit that I married you ‘secretly’ in my bedchamber.” She let her eyes rove over him, touched her lower lip with her tongue, and smiled. “Now stop arguing with me because you are wasting time and I am growing weary. Go down and bring up Father Harold.”
Alex stood up and swallowed. “He will not like this, Desiree. And—” he hesitated and then went on with a rush “—and if he objects, I will not do it.”
Desiree laughed again.
However, when Alex and the priest did not return at once, she began to frown and bite her lip. Could Alex not wish to marry her? Could he have fled back to Telscombe?
Her answer arrived just before she was about to order Eadgyth to help her out of bed. Alex came, bringing not only the priest, but Elias, Godric, Farman and, from her outer chamber, the senior woman, Maud.
“Witnesses,” he said, “that I have not struck you or threatened you, and Godric is armed so if you wish to repudiate me, he can drive me from your chamber. There are other men below to support him if need be.”
Now Father Harold laughed and Elias grinned and hid his mouth with a hand.
“My lady?” Godric asked, sounding frightened.
“Sir Alex is my own free choice for husband,” Desiree said clearly. “If we had already been married, Master Vachel would never have tried to abduct me and marry me himself. It is my desire to remove that hope from any other man, so in case he must leave to attend to Telscombe tomorrow, I wish to marry Sir Alex here and now. Father?”
The priest stepped forward at once, clearly without any reluctance. Elias’s eyes filled with tears and he hoped his dear master could see how happy Desiree and Alex were. It was, of necessity, a short and simple ceremony, but no one present doubted the eagerness and sincerity of either bride or groom. There was one hesitation, when the priest came to the lines about the ring, but Alex pulled up a long leather thong from around his neck and opened it to remove a thin gold band.
“It was my mother’s,” he said. “I will buy you a richer ring as soon as I can, but for now—”
Desiree knew how deeply Alex loved his mother. “For forever, if you are willing for me to wear it, Alex.”
He bent to kiss her lips. Father Harold hastily spoke the final phrases. Desiree grinned with satisfaction. Alex heaved a great sigh. Elias shepherded everyone out of the room, even Eadgyth, and closed the door behind him.
Alex went down on his knees and rested his head on the edge of the bed. “I hope I did right, only it seems wrong to be so very happy when I know you should have at least an earl to match your worth. You should have been dressed in cloth of gold and jewels and had three bishops to intone the wedding Mass.”
“What? Are you telling me that you do not like my gown?” Desiree said in an aggrieved voice.
Alex lifted his head. Desiree leaned forward. Alex’s mouth and one of Desiree’s excited, protuberant nipples met. Alex kissed, then took it into his mouth. Desiree cried out and clutched his head to her breast. Alex groaned. Desiree’s hands slid down over his back and pulled him urgently.
“No,” he gasped. “No. You are hurt. I must not—”
“Thank God you are not still in armor,” she whispered, half laughing. “Get your clothes off and get into bed. Let me worry about my hurts.”
“I shouldn’t…”
But he was already on his feet, flinging away tunic and shirt, shoes, braies, and chausses. Desiree giggled, then set her teeth as she slid sideways to make room for him. He reached for her, but she held him off and pushed him so that he lay flat. Sighing to hide her pain, Desiree leaned over and lay atop him. More quickly she drew up her knees, set her elbows, and raised her hips. Now leaning on one elbow, she reached between them and seized his shaft. Alex gasped.
Desiree was biting her lips to keep back little grunts of pain; it was sharp but not severe. She knew she was not tearing open the cut. And then Alex’s hand came between them, but not to interfere with her positioning, only to cup her breast and rub his thumb across the nipple.
Desiree forgot all about the pain in her back. Her nether mouth felt as if it were gaping open. She slid down on his staff. Alex heaved toward her and for a moment she let him sink to the hilt. Then she lifted up again.
The strangled moans that came from Alex’s throat excited her almost as much as the tickling of her nipples—both of Alex’s hands were busy now. He had been silent except for nearly soundless sighs all the other times they had made love—but then there had been a need for secrecy and that was gone. Desiree was tempted to plunge down and down and down until she swallowed him whole. Instead she just took the head in, and wriggled around.
Sounds of strangulation changed to a full-throated if muffled howl. Alex thrust upward. Desiree giggled and rose with him, still holding the head within her.
>
“Please,” Alex pleaded. “Please.”
He twisted his body and stretched his neck so that he could seize a nipple in his mouth and he began to suck. Now Desiree uttered a muffled howl and her arms began to tremble. Alex took her buttocks in his freed hands and pressed. Desiree’s knees slid apart and she came down upon him, rubbing against his hot staff the erect, excited little nubbin of flesh between the lips of her nether mouth.
A tingling thrill woke within her. “Ah,” she cried “Ah,” and plunged harder and wriggled and plunged again.
“Wait,” Alex gasped. “Wait. I will spend.”
But Desiree was beyond waiting. Her body was convulsed with waves of pleasure so exquisite that they racked her like pain, and the heaving of Alex below her added high notes to the agony of joy that pierced her.
Stillness. Silence.
“I think being married makes it better,” Desiree sighed.
“You are right,” Alex murmured. “Guilt is an ugly and bitter spice even for love.”
Desiree did not reply. Her breaths were deep and even. Alex wondered whether he should try to move her off him, but he was afraid to turn her on her back. She was no great weight and the lax grip of her lower lips on his shrinking staff was a sweet, idle comfort. He allowed his eyes to close, wrapped one arm loosely around her shoulders, the other around her buttocks and drifted off to sleep.
What woke him, Alex did not know, but he shuddered with terror when he realized the weight on him was Desiree and that he was still lying in her bed. Carefully, he lifted her hips off his body and set them on the bed beside him. Then he tried to lift her shoulders, but they bent, folding the skin that had been cut. Desiree cried out.
“Hush,” Alex urged. “Hush.”
“What are you trying to do?” she asked sleepily.
“Move you over onto the bed.”
She giggled softly. “Am I too heavy for you?”
“No, and you are delightfully soft and warm, but I must go at once.”
“Go?” Desiree slid off him, grunting as the movement hurt her sore back. “Where? Why?”
“Down to my chamber so your women will not see…”
“We are married, Alex,” Desiree said, moving closer against him and nuzzling his neck. “This is your chamber, and my women would think it very strange indeed if you left it in the middle of the night.”
There was a little silence. Then Alex said, “Oh.” Another little silence and then he said, “Why do you not get on top of me again?”
“You find that more comfortable?” Desiree asked as she worked her way onto his body.
“More pleasurable, certainly, but your knees are digging into my thighs. If you would put one on each side… Ah.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Alex and Desiree woke again it was full morning. Alex would have leapt out of the bed, shocked and guilty, but Desiree was lying propped against him with one arm over his chest and he remembered they were married. He relaxed his tightened muscles and lay at ease, with a deep sigh. He was just a little frightened. His heart was pounding like the hammer in a forge. He hoped he would not die. It seemed impossible for anyone to be so happy and live.
He must have moved or she had felt him sigh, because Desiree stirred and leaned away so she could see him. “Alex?”
“Yes, my love, my dream, my delight, my whole life?”
She blinked and smiled. “Ah, you are no longer mistaking me for a pillar.”
“I never mistook you for a pillar, silly woman. I was afraid to look at you because Sir Simon told me you would be a temptation.” His eyes darkened. “I hope Frewyn never knew. I meant no ill but you were so lovely, so good—”
Desiree giggled again. “Oh, Frewyn knew. About two weeks after you came he made up his mind that you would be the right husband for me. Elias and Father Harold knew. They told me after you went to take Telscombe.”
“You did not like that. I am sorry. It was not greed—at least not only greed—to take Telscombe. It was my duty.”
“I know that. I—I dreamed of Frewyn last night. I dreamed he came to our wedding and—and gave the bride away.” Her voice trembled. “I was so glad to see him.”
“I am glad for it. I loved him too. He and Sir Simon, they are what my father should have been.” His arm tightened around her shoulders, high enough not to hurt her. “But about Telscombe. If you…if you do not wish me to be seizined of it, I will tell Sir Simon. It will be living enough for me to be castellan here—”
“Give up Telscombe? After it cost me so much pain? Of course not. You must have your own living. That will save Exceat the not inconsiderable cost of a castellan. So we will both be richer.”
He was silent for a moment, absorbing more joy and then asked, “Will you help me with Telscombe? It is nothing so large or strong as Exceat, but it is a good little keep and once that postern door is properly sealed, sound enough. It has some farms too but I fear they are in terrible condition because Nicolaus only took his share or more than his share and never told the serfs or villeins what to do. And there are sheep, but I know nothing about those.”
“Of course I will help.”
Desiree too wondered if pure happiness would strike her dead. She had not really doubted Alex, not really. But they were married now, without even a contract defining her lands and rights. He could have simply claimed it all. He could have made her into nothing. Instead he pleaded for her help. She took his face between her hands and kissed him, not with passion, but a true kiss of peace, a bond between equals.
Happiness notwithstanding, Alex was still troubled by a marriage performed by the castle chaplain and witnessed only by the castle steward, the master-at-arms’ second, the chief manservant, and two maids.
He had Father Harold prepare a marriage contract based on Desiree’s contract with Sir Frewyn. Hers to her, Telscombe and what else he could win with his sword to him—he told Father Harold not to show Desiree that provision. He offered no dower settlement. It would have been ridiculous when she was so much the richer. She carried no dowry with her to him. This contract he sent to Sir Simon with an explanation of why Desiree insisted on their immediate marriage, and he begged for advice on how to make sure the marriage would not be challenged.
For reply he had an invitation for him and Desiree to come to Roselynde as soon as King Richard was freed. A large portion of the ransom was already on its way to the Emperor. Richard would give mortgages for the remainder to be paid. And Philip had sent to Prince John a message that said, “Look to yourself. The devil is loosed.” Richard was freed in June. There would be no invasion.
As well as Alex and Desiree, Roselynde was hosting a large concourse of loyal—and newly loyal—noblemen and all of them were more than willing to bury—even if only temporarily—political differences under the happiness of a grand wedding. There was a tourney, which Desiree truly enjoyed because the groom was not allowed to fight; there were days of feasting, nights of dancing, jongleurs and jugglers, players and mountebanks.
If Desiree did not wear cloth of gold, she came close in blue velvet embroidered all over with silver. And there were jewels binding her wimple, and gold armlets on her arms, and pearls around her neck. Alex had found a nice cache of gold and jewels in the strongbox of Telscombe. Perhaps they had belonged to Sir Bernard, perhaps Nicolaus had wrested them from other sources. They were Alex’s now, and he put them all on Desiree, telling her with his heart in his eyes, that their value paled before hers.
Author’s Note
Unlike most of the Roselynde Chronicles, which often include many historical personages, all the characters in Desiree, except Prince John, are fictional. However, to the best of my ability, the events of the book, the customs, beliefs, manners and behavior are true to the period—a few months in 1193—in which the novel is set.
If the language sounds colloquial (although I have tried to avoid anachronistic phrases), remember that people did speak in a colloquial form of whatever language
they used. Romans, in the privacy of their households or among their friends and families, did not declaim in the measured and high-toned phrases in which Cicero wrote. The characters in this book spoke mostly in the language we call Old High French. Obviously, even if I could, which I cannot, it would do little good for me to write the dialogue in that language since very, very few could read it.
Remember, too, that religion was a very serious matter in the twelfth century. Oh, people were people then as now. They committed every one of the deadly sins as well as all the venial ones (and some no doubt that we would not think of as sins). But in the twelfth century they knew they had done wrong. They believed in sin, they believed in Heaven and in Hell, they believed they would be judged by God.
Twelfth century people also believed that they could be cleansed of sin by confession, repentance, and penance. The very depraved and the temporarily wicked pushed the thoughts of their sins away, telling themselves that there was time to confess and be absolved. Also, sins of the flesh, although greatly deplored in sermons and admonitions, were recognized as almost inevitable. Lust, as between two young people carried away by their emotions, was regarded far differently than the depraved lust of a repeated ravisher of women.
For Desiree, Ihave deliberately chosen a period in which there was a lull in the almost constant warring between Richard I, king of England, and Philip II, king of France. The relationship and reasons for animosity go far back, to the previous generation when Eleanor of Aquitaine’s marriage to the French King Louis VII (called St. Louis) was annulled.
Who demanded the divorce from whom is a moot point. Technically, Louis put Eleanor aside. However, their marriage had never been satisfactory to Eleanor. She was far more sexual, far more intelligent and forceful than her husband, and was bored to death. There can be no doubt she desired to be free but could see no way to achieve that goal. And then Pope Eugenius called a Crusade. Eleanor was immediately afire, although it is likely she took the cross more for the chance to travel to Outremeur than for religion’s sake.
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