Children of Enchantment (30 page)

“Girl,” the Bishop rasped. She made a brief gesture with her hand which might have been a blessing.

“Lady Bishop,” gasped Tavia, from her knees, her hands full of the dusty scraps, “the scripture—“

“It doesn’t matter. Do you think I don’t know the words?” the Bishop muttered. “I know the words. Come.” She swept a glance
over Annandale and paused. “Do I know you, girl? Your face … it seems I ought to know you,” she muttered, more to herself
than to the women in the room. “Well. No matter. I know the words. Come.” The Bishop turned, the hem of her heavy scarlet
cloak sweeping the fragments of the scripture into a swirl of dust. Silently, Annandale followed, her heart aching with the
Bishop’s grief.

* * *

On the dais, Roderic fiddled with the gold buckle on his belt and fingered the design on the scabbard of his dagger. Phineas
lay on his litter, his lids closed over his sightless eyes, his hands clasped loosely across his chest. He might have been
sleeping, but the faint smile which lifted the corners of his mouth betrayed him. Roderic knew Phineas wouldn’t smile if he
knew what Roderic was thinking, that he would marry this woman, this girl, this—this witch, his mind whispered. He would do
as Abelard had wished, but he couldn’t stop thinking of her as something not quite human.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roderic caught sight of Peregrine, her belt heavy with the keys bright against the background
of her drab green gown. With a quick pattering of steps, punctuated by the clink of metal against metal, she marched to the
dais to take her place. Her lips were pinched, her face was pale, and he realized that she had lost weight in the last months.
Something like regret slung him, that she should suffer on his account. I made her no promises, he thought, and instantly
knew he was wrong. Peregrine’s pinched face was like a ghost’s, haunting his waking moments.

Then he forgot about Peregrine, for the trumpets blared from the musician’s mezzanine, and Brand, dressed in the full regalia
of his rank, escorted Annandale to the dais.

Most of the ceremony was a blur in Roderic’s mind, but he noticed that Annandale wore a gown of dark blue silk which finally
did her beauty justice. Her hair was long and unbound and fell in dark waves below her shoulders. The only ornaments she wore
were the rings which had been the Queen’s— one of sapphire and one of pearl. He stood before the entire household, with her
by his side, and took her hand. The pressure of her palm sent a reverberation like the beating of a muffled drum through his
body. He remembered the light which had flared between them when he had touched her cheek the day she had healed him, and
his mind went to later, after the ceremony, when they would be alone. He had not touched her or been alone with her since
that day.

In the light of the hundreds of candles throughout the hall, her face was nearly incandescent. She looked up at him and her
smile made his heart falter in mid-beat. Then the Bishop was speaking the sonorous words of the wedding vows, the ancient
words which bound her to him more surely than the wishes of the King. He pushed the plain gold wedding ring on her finger,
the one visible link in the chain.

They did not sit long at the wedding feast. Roderic rose, after only an hour and one of the three courses, and held out his
hand to Annandale. She rose obediently, and the assembly exploded in cheers and ribald shouts. She put her hand in his, trustingly,
like a child. He led her through the halls and up the stairs, into the chambers which had been prepared for them. By previous
arrangement, guards blocked the company from following.

The chambers were the ones which Gartred had occupied: wide, graceful rooms near the top of the eastern tower which overlooked
the sea. A fire burned in the great hearth of the outer room, and the air was scented with the bridal herbs strewn among the
logs. The rooms had been completely redone in the last weeks, and now blue carpets covered the wooden floors, the curtains
at the windows were of fine spun white linen that reminded him of fog, and the bed hangings were soft velvet of blue and white.

Roderic left Annandale in the outer chamber with a brusque:“You may call for your women, lady.” Perhaps it had been a mistake
to have nothing to do with her all these weeks. His self-control was like a brittle shell; he could feel it cracking all around
him. He went to his dressing room, where his personal things had been moved that day, and stripped, leaving his clothes in
a heap. He went into the bedroom, got into bed and snuffed out the candle. He did not wait long.

She entered, her bare feet making little noise on the soft carpet. She paused by the side of the bed. Roderic kept his back
to her. “Come to bed, lady. It has been a long day for both of us.”

“Roderic?” She said his name hesitantly. It was the first time she had so addressed him, except for the day in the audience
room and at the ceremony that evening.

“Yes?”

“Will you not look—” She stopped. Before he had a chance to react, she moved to the other side of the bed and stood beside
him. The full moon shone through the window, and she was bathed in a silver aura. He could not tear his eyes away from the
outline of her breasts moving beneath the thin cotton of her gown. “Do you find me so repulsive?”

He studied her for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, pressure building in his loins, and he could not
deny his need any longer. He held out his hand. “No,” was all he could manage.

Roderic wrapped his arm about her waist and pulled her up beside him on the bed. She quivered as he lifted her chin with his
finger. He bent his head and kissed her, for the first time, on the mouth.

No other woman had ever affected him as she did with that one kiss. When he finally lifted his head, he too trembled. “Forgive
me, lady,” he whispered, for he knew he had hurt her. It was not her he wanted to reject, it was the whole unbelievable circumstances
surrounding her.

She reached up and smoothed a wayward lock of hair back from his face. “I wish—” she began, and stopped, biting her lip.

“What is it?”

“I wish I could make you believe I would never do you harm.” Her eyes filled with tears, and in that instant, he felt a depth
of sorrow unlike anything he had ever known. “I know you’re afraid,” she whispered. “So am I.”

A raw tide of emotion swept through him, longing and need and fear, and over and under and through it all, he felt an acceptance
at once so complete and unconditional, his heart seemed to swell inside his chest. He took her face in his hands and looked
her full in the eyes. “I will make you my wife—” He hesitated, searching to put into words feelings he had never known before.
“By the throne of my father, I will trust you with my life.” She closed her eyes and raised her mouth to his.

He pulled the gown off her shoulders and away, until she was naked, and he saw that her body was as perfect as her face, as
if drawn by some architect with steady hand and perfect rule. He cupped a hand around one breast and flicked the pink nipple
gently with his thumb. She rolled so they lay facing each other beneath the sheet. She reached out, touched his face, drew
the tip of one finger down his chin, to his throat, and across his chest. She drew her fingers through the hair on his chest,
like a comb, and continued down. His skin flared as if each nerve had only been partially awake before her touch.

He took her hand in his, before she could continue lower; he did not trust his control. He brought his hand beneath her neck
and caressed the fall of her thick, dark hair and pressed her back. He threw the pillow to one side so she lay flat beneath
him, and she opened her legs and wrapped one thigh over his hip.

He began to ache with desire. He kissed both breasts and took one taut nipple in his mouth and sucked until she moaned. She
spread her legs wider and the head of his throbbing penis pressed against her hot, wet flesh. Involuntarily, he thrust forward
and encountered resistance. She drew her hands down his back, cupped his buttocks, and arched beneath him. He thrust again,
and again encountered resistance. Through the red haze of desire, he lifted his head. She was a virgin. Of course she was.
She had spent her life in near seclusion. He lifted up and away from her. “Annandale.”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Don’t stop.” Her breathing was as ragged as his own.

“I don’t want to hurt you. This—“

“You won’t—please—“

“You don’t understand, sweet.” His body ached to the bursting point; he could not trust himself. “If we do this now, there’ll
be no pleasure in it for you—here, let me have your hand.” He wrapped it around his pulsing shaft and guided it up and down.
In only a few strokes, his breathing quickened, his body shuddered, and his seed spilled onto the sheet. He opened his eyes.
“Forgive me. I’ve wanted you too long and too much—that would have happened as soon as I entered you and there’d be no release
for you.”

She had not let go her hold on him. She rose up on one elbow to lean over him. “Don’t you think I have wanted you, too?”

He smiled and took her hand away. He drew her close and kissed her long and hard, and as they pressed together, he felt again
the first stirrings of desire. With his immediate demand satisfied, he concentrated all his effort into pleasing her. He turned
her over, holding her close within the curve of his arm. Beneath the heavy fall of her hair, he planted light, teasing kisses
from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. He drew slow circles around the firm mass of her buttocks, nudged her
thighs apart.

With a deep sigh, she rolled over in his embrace. Roderic raised his head, and she reached down to hold his face with trembling
hands. The force of his own desire overwhelmed him—never had he wanted a woman so much, never had he wanted so much to give
her pleasure. It was as if he could feel her need as his. With lips and teeth, he teased the soft skin of her inner thighs,
then gently, he parted the swollen lips between her legs and tasted the faint, salt moisture of her desire. She groaned as
he probed with slow, deliberate strokes. She twined her fingers in his hair and tugged.

He eased up her belly, exploring with lips and hands and tongue, and this time, when he positioned himself between her thighs,
he knew he could bring her pleasure. She arched her back, offering herself, and he pressed forward gently, easing in a little
more with each thrust.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It won’t matter.” She arched against him urgently, drawing him in. Her breath was hot against his ear. With one short, quick
thrust, he broke the membrane and penetrated. She gripped his shoulders. Her body felt like a hot silk sheath. “All right?”
he murmured against her throat.

She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. Hers were dark in the moonlight. “Please. Don’t stop.” They found
a rhythm that matched, and she moved beneath him like the sea, and as the pace increased, she sought his mouth with hers.
She was his, all of her, and he had never felt so complete, or so one with any other woman. Bound together at lips and loins,
they moved toward the same place, faster and harder, and when he felt her body tense and then relax, tense and then relax,
he let himself go. She stifled a cry against his shoulder. A little later, he lifted his head. They looked at each other and
smiled.

They spent the rest of the night entwined in each other’s arms. Her body molded itself to his as if they truly were two halves
of one whole. They slept, finally, as the moon sank in the night sky and the air grew chill.

He woke near dawn to see her standing at the window, watching the sea in the gray half light, and held out his hand. “Come
back.”

She turned, clasping her nightgown to her breasts, and he saw she had been weeping. “What is it, sweet? What’s wrong?” She
closed her eyes and wiped her cheeks and came to lie beneath the covers next to him. “Can’t you tell me?”

“I was thinking about my mother—” She shook her head and turned away.

“What about her? Do you want me to send a messenger—?” “No!” She shook her head violently. “Leave her in peace … do you think
she would want anyone to see her the way she is?”

He did not try to understand. He said nothing more, but gathered her in his arms, kissed away the salt tears, and held her
until she slept.

A
nnandale opened her eyes. A long shaft of morning sun slanted across the bed, and she saw that the sky outside the window
was a bright, clear blue. It must be very late. She turned her head. Roderic still slept, his face pillowed on the palm of
one hand, a lock of his light brown hair falling across his face. With a gesture which was becoming automatic, she reached
out and smoothed the hair off his face. He stirred and mumbled something, then settled back to sleep.

With the very tip of one finger, the lightest of caresses, she traced the line of his cheek down to his stubbled jaw. They
had been married two weeks, and in that time, she still found it hard to comprehend the depth of the communion between them.