by Ling, Maria
"Good night," she said in a belated attempt at courtesy. After all, he was her husband and he was entitled to respect.
Richard didn't answer. He must already be asleep. Fine comment that, she was so worthless as a wife he didn't even stay awake on their wedding night.
God sent this to test her. She reminded herself of that. Any trials, any difficulties, were always and only a test of her faith. Though that thought angered her too. Didn't God know her well enough by now to understand her faith, and to help it grow if He thought it needed to?
Clarice glared at the ceiling while the evening light faded, and thought bitter thoughts.
***
She'd gone quiet at least, Richard thought. Probably asleep, and that was a mercy. He'd been on the point of tears. If any man ever found out he'd been impotent on his wedding night... He wouldn't dare show his face at the king's court again. Or anywhere else, for that matter. He'd have to cast off the world and go be a monk somewhere. Which he appeared well suited to, judging by tonight.
Though no one could have got anywhere with that creature next to him in bed. Barely a woman at all, so cold and pious and filled with platitudes. He wondered, for a dark moment, if the whole thing had been some elaborate plot by the earl to make him look ridiculous. But he pushed aside that thought. He wasn't important enough for the earl to take such trouble.
He'd half looked forward to this evening, too. More than half, when Clarice was out of his sight. Or rather out of hearing -- she did have the most magnificent figure, and those eyes...and the mouth too, he'd stirred up well when he kissed her, thought for a moment there was real fire there. And then she'd started on the nunnish talk, and lain there like a lump of wet clay, and he'd lost every hint of enthusiasm.
God, this marriage was sent to curse him. And he'd done nothing to deserve it, well, no worse than any and better than most. He had enough on his conscience, but so did every other man in the realm.
He'd killed men, but only in battle, he'd never harmed the weaponless. Never raised hand to woman or child, never plundered or torched or raped his way through villages and towns, as some did. War came straight from Satan's arse, he'd have no part in it if he could, but that choice was never given him. And he'd paid, even for the small gesture of protecting his own people from ravage.
Maybe that displeased the Lord, maybe He was running short of saints in His kingdom and wanted to fill it up again.
She was asleep behind his back, he could hear her quiet breathing. Felt the warmth of her body, too, remembered those soft breasts and soft lips, yielding underneath him --
Oh hell. He was ready now. Great timing, that.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of turning back to her and trying again. But reality doused him, cold as winter rain. She'd babble on about what God demanded, and he'd chill into uselessness as he'd done before. No, he'd best resign himself to a marriage without sex, to a woman he hadn't chosen and didn't much like, and who'd fit better in a convent than in his bed.
Three cheers and a bottle of wine, he thought grimly. Celebrate that with the lads.
He wished he could go drinking with Ralph. It would take his mind off this disaster. But he couldn't leave his wife so soon, they'd all know he'd failed, and then he'd never live it down. No. He'd have to stay beside her, and find some way to turn aside comment in the morning.
She wouldn't talk, he thought with a sudden stab of gratitude. Clarice. Not about that, she'd prattle on about God's will until everyone fainted from boredom, but she wouldn't discuss his performance. She wasn't that kind of woman. He was grateful for that much, at least. There had been others, less reticent, though that lay in the past. He flushed at the memory.
'A clumsy boy' one had called him -- though not until after he'd paid her, of course. He'd stayed away from such women after that, but there had been one at court. Whispers and sneers had flown the next day, until she made the mistake of angering a more powerful man than himself, at which point everyone obligingly concluded that she'd lied. Relief for him, and some restoration of his worth in other men's eyes. He'd avoided women entirely after that escapade. They weren't worth the damage to his purse and his self-esteem.
This one...well, she had her good points. Nothing to compare him to, for a start. Pure thoughts and purer mouth, for next. He wavered at the recollection of that mouth, so wet and lush and sweet under his own. If only she'd continued on that path, he could have fulfilled every duty she laid on him, and a few no nun had ever told her of.
But no. He'd married a statue, pretty to look at but devoid of feelings or warmth. Just his luck.
Richard burrowed deeper into the mattress and cursed the earl.
***
CHAPTER 4
"We'll cut him off here." Richard pointed to the narrow path that wound between spreading trees. "They'll have to spread out along the path, so even if he has a retinue with him they won't be able to mount effective resistance. A few archers in the woods on either side should take care of it nicely. Unless he's to be taken unhurt, but that's not what I was told."
"No." The earl's man eyed him with grudging respect. "Captured or killed, either will do. How many archers can you muster?"
"Enough," Richard said. "Provided the king let some of them keep all their fingers. I'm making enquiries now." He affected to study the path, threw a sidelong glance at his guard to see how that crack about the king went down. No reaction. Probably a good thing.
He'd spent the morning visiting tenant houses, swapping news and good wishes with each family in turn. It made a good excuse, he'd left at dawn and returned only for a bite of bread and meat at noon, to be told his bride was at her sewing. He left her to cope with the sheer thrill of that without his support, headed out again, found more to survey. The estate was in better shape than he'd feared, it had been mostly left alone by the parties that ravaged so much of the countryside.
By evening he'd seen about half of all he wished to meet, would have gone quicker except for the lengthy litanies to be endured about cold weather and harsh wind and relentless rain. It had cleared now, though, the air glowed with golden warmth, he felt almost happy. Worth grim guards and a dismal wife, for the sheer joy of being back home.
He'd always loved it here, it had broken his heart to leave as a boy, sent away to earn his knighthood in another man's house. Though it wasn't all a loss: he'd met Ralph there. They'd clung together for companionship, teased and wrestled, fallen over laughing at each other's unflattering imitations of their host and his swordmaster. Got through the years somehow, bleak as they were, earned their swords and spurs. Parted, Richard to take on the family manor after his father's death and his mother's remarriage, Ralph to take service elsewhere. For the Angevin cause, as it turned out, they'd met again due to that, been defeated and disgraced together, trailed the king for favour with something of their old camaraderie. Lived under the same roof, now.
Richard planned to make Ralph his steward. The man entrusted with the task had hinted at creaking joints and failing sight. If Richard could get this prince business cleared away and the guards off his back, if he could settle down to run his own estate once again, the pair of them would have a pleasant life at last.
With a nun for company. Well, she was pretty to look at, he'd have to console himself with that. Ralph had called him a lucky dog that morning, Richard said nothing in response, just shrugged and winked and let the others think as they chose. She wouldn't talk at least, Clarice, he trusted her that far. Which was foolish, perhaps, he didn't know her at all, she might be the worst gossip that ever lived. But his instinct told him not.
For all that, his instinct might be wrong. It had whispered other things to him, too, as he saw the spark in her eyes and the twist of her supple mouth, he'd imagined she'd be a bedding to remember. Which she had been, in fairness. He held back a laugh at that thought.
"When will the prince be here?" he asked the earl's man, who shrugged.
He'd mentioned possible travellers t
o the outlying settlements, started there first and worked his way inwards. Asked to be informed if anyone of noble sort came this way, so he could prepare a worthy welcome for them. Outriders would take care of that, normally, but 'all things are in disarray now, since the war' he'd told his tenants, and they'd listened and grumbled and agreed. Few went hungry, that was something, he'd ordered better doles where stores allowed, taken note of the poorer families, handed out a shilling to each house in need. A gift on his return home, it had been gratefully received, none had sniffed and called him tight-fisted. He appreciated that.
There would be more, as much as he could spare, just as soon as he could lay hands on his wife's coin. He'd need to travel further, once he had matters settled here, he was lord of her estates now. Grand they were compared to his, he'd wish to keep a close eye on all their dealings. Else her underlings would cheat her out of a fortune, he knew how these things went.
The lord who raised him had been thorough. Both he and Ralph had received a sound education in how to manage estates, they'd pored over ledgers in the afternoons instead of idling away the hours playing games in the great hall. Which he'd resented at the time, and regretted at the king's court -- he'd have given much to be a better hand at chess -- but now he hoped it might come in useful after all. His own lands he could handle, they were not rich enough for much complexity, but Clarice's were a sizeable step up.
Still. First things first. His own manor, his favour with the king. Ralph installed as steward and trained up by the man who wished to retire from the task. After that, Richard would be free to turn his attention elsewhere.
He rode back to the house in good spirits, bore Clarice's chilly presence at supper with his best attempt at composure, lingered at dice with Ralph until the earl's men began to give him strange looks. Even Ralph frowned at him, and at last muttered: "Your wife will be in bed by now."
"Possibly," Richard said. "She takes an eternity to comb her hair."
"Really?" Ralph's forehead cleared. "That explains why you're in no hurry."
"I have all night," Richard said with a grin. Or as close to a grin as he could manage. "Don't you worry about me. Keep working on that plan."
"What plan? Oh." Ralph nodded slowly.
"Ride out with me tomorrow," Richard said. "Then we'll discuss it." He stood up, stretched, stifled a yawn. Country air made him sleepy. "Well, I'm off to my own merry bed. Good night, all."
He took their cheerful insinuations with equanimity, climbed the stairs and eased himself into his bedchamber, cast only a cursory glance at the still form of his wife. She was asleep, or at prayer -- or dead, perhaps, she lay like a corpse, plank straight and with arms crossed over her chest. Eh, she might as well be dead for all the fun she gave him.
Her eyes opened then, blank in a blank face, and his skin froze as if she'd truly been a corpse. He'd seen too many of those, rigid and staring, soaked with blood. Memories flashed before his eyes, lightning strikes that seared and burned and left him blind.
He closed his eyes, clutched at the wall to steady himself, missed and fell. Crashed onto soft cushions, had time only to struggle in confusion for any sense of where he was -- he kept no cushions in this room -- and then her scream tore at him. Clumsy fool, he'd fallen right across his wife. Hurt her, too, to judge by the pitch of that scream.
"Sorry," he said as he scrambled up again. He'd been saying that a lot just lately. But this time he felt it, too. He wanted to march right out of the room and down to the pond and drown himself. It would be better than this.
"Are you ill?" She sat up as best she could, rubbed her breast with one hand. That distracted Richard from his own embarrassment, he fought the urge to join her. "You went so pale for a moment -- "
"Not ill," Richard said. "Bad memories. I do ask your pardon. You must think me a clumsy oaf."
"Not that," Clarice said -- too quickly, and her tone rang false.
"Well," Richard said, "I am one." Humour stood his friend, he could just see himself toppling and crashing over her, like a falling tree. What a fool. "Are you hurt?"
"It's nothing." She took her hand away from her breast, left it round and tempting under that fine linen.
"Let me see," Richard said, and sat down on the bed next to her.
"Certainly not." She started back as if he'd been the devil, and her cheeks flushed.
"I am your husband," Richard said reasonably. "It's not as if you need to keep anything hidden from me. And not a word about God," he warned as she drew breath.
Clarice subsided. Meekly she eased the neckline of her shift a little aside, to reveal pale smooth skin.
He was ready now, Richard thought distantly. Oh yes. Ready as could be.
"Nothing bruised." He leaned closer. "Of course, I really need to see it entirely without that shift."
"You are not concerned for me at all," Clarice said, with such petulance that he laughed.
"Well," he said, "I was. But now I'm not. If you're in a temper, that's a good sign."
She hitched the neckline higher, much to his disappointment. He could have sworn he caught, faint around her inviting mouth, the merest hint of a smile.
"What did you remember?" she asked, and the smile vanished -- if it ever had been a smile.
"Death," he said. "You lay so still, like a corpse. I've seen that too many times." Not only men either, children and women also, but never on his orders and never at his hands. "It took me back." He shook his head to clear it.
"I'm sorry." She sat up a little more, leaned forward with an earnest expression. "I was praying. But if it troubles you, I will be sure to have done before you come to me."
A brief silence hung between them, hot and tense.
"About last night," Richard said. "I spoke rather cruelly to you. Forgive me."
Her eyes widened, startled. "You may speak as you like. You are my husband."
"I did promise to love you," Richard says. "That goes ill with such language as I used."
"I probably deserved it," Clarice said. "You see, no one's told me how to please a husband. I thought you'd wish to hear -- "
"Tell you this," Richard said. "Stop assuming what I'd like. Just ask me, if you want to know."
Clarice flushed, deeply and obviously. "I couldn't do that."
"Why not?" Richard demanded. "I'm not going to beat you, if that's what you're worried about." He broke off as she moved a little and those glorious breasts shifted under the thin cloth.
"You were saying?" Clarice prompted.
"I've no idea." He reached out gingerly, wondered if he dared, and then thought: I have a right to do this. Except he'd always hated men who insisted on their own rights while trampling those of others into the dirt. "May I touch you?" he asked.
"Yes please," Clarice breathed, with such passion that he leaned over too fast and bumped into her. Clumsy, he scolded himself, but she was soft and willing underneath him, her mouth opened eager under his. This he could do, he thought and marvelled at it, his only concern now was to last long enough to get decently out of his clothes.
Somehow he struggled clear of his boots and hose, thought of battling with the shirt and decided against, it mattered little enough. She let him pull the cover aside and join her underneath, let him tug up her shift to reveal gorgeous pale thighs and an arrow-head of fur. Straight for the target, he thought, and quelled a laugh, this nunnish wife of his would not take kindly to such words. But her mouth opened hot and yielding underneath his, her legs parted for him, he drove home with a yelp that drowned out hers, thrust deep and hard. Caught himself as she whimpered -- shit, he'd made a mess of this, she'd hate him now. Or fear him, he could tell by the sudden tension in her body that he'd hurt her.
"Forgive me," he said, and slowed, and eased himself further inside her. Clarice trembled underneath him, he thought she sobbed. Then she wrapped her arms and legs hard around him and whispered: "More."
He came then, to his embarrassment and disgrace, held her tight and whispered
she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and he would make it up to her, he'd do better the next night, and the night after that. She rocked him bodily as he promised it, he wished he had more to give, much more, but they would reach that too. For now, he simply let her hug him, and marvelled to find so much passion in this demure convent girl.
***
"I should think," the baron said, "I have as much right to visit my niece as anyone. Even if I did lose her to a better man." He winked at Richard. "Having fun so far?"
"What's that?" Richard responded, pretending not to understand.
"The bed, man, the bed. You're out of it. Why?"
"Got to catch my breath sometimes," Richard said, and the baron laughed. The earl's man, who'd sat scowling at the pair of them, pushed his stool away from the table and strode out of the room.
The baron leaned closer, all trace of humour gone. "Confidentially," he said, "I bring a message to you from one who was a friend. He asks if you stand by the old cause, and what you can offer."
Richard narrowly missed falling off his stool. "Excuse me," he said. "But I do not recall you being foremost among the empress's champions."
"Not me," the baron said with an exaggerated look of horror and a flailing of fat hands. "Wouldn't dream of doing anything so drastic. No. I only carried messages. Sent troops to serve under other men. Waylaid small parties. That sort of thing. Nothing overt. And I was fortunate enough to do some small favours for the earl my overlord as well, once the tide turned. Which is why I'm still in possession of my lands and fortune, while you are not."
"Looks like it from where I'm sitting," Richard observed.
"Ah," the baron said. "Well. I notice you have new men in your service. Men of good birth and unquestioned loyalty to the king, men who I happen to know were recently in the earl's service. They followed you from the court, attended your wedding, accompanied you here. And here they remain, though I'd lay a mark or two against it being of their own free will. Or yours." The baron cocked an eyebrow. "Am I on a losing streak today?"
