Hellion (9 page)

“My mother died shortly after my birth, and my father at Hastings, as you know,” he began. “I was raised by my grandparents. Never in all my life did Cedric Merlin-sone raise his hand to his wife, the lady Emma. My grandmother has a fierce
Norman temper even as you do, ma Belle, but even her outbursts could not make grandfather angry enough to beat her. Many men would have, I know that, but not my grandfather.

“My grandparents have lived their lives together as equal partners, even as King William and good Queen Matilda did, may God assoil their souls. That is the kind of marriage I offer you, Isabelle of Langston. You will not be my servant. You will be my companion. You will be the mother of my children. If I must go to war in the king’s name, you will be my regent here at Langston. I do not know how else to reassure you than to tell you these things. Neither of us has a choice in the matter. The king has said we must marry. I have pledged my loyalty to Henry Beauclerc, and will obey his commands. I know you are an honorable woman. Can you do any less?”

“Will you put your words in writing?” Belle demanded.

“Would you sue me then,
ma douce
?” He was amused. “Besides, you cannot read, and would not know if the words were true.”

“I trust you to make them true, my lord,” she answered.

He was amazed. “You would trust me, Belle? Why?”

“Because you are not like my father, or my brothers,” she said simply.

It was the most astounding avowal of faith that had ever been given to him. To refuse her confidence would be unchivalrous. “I will have Father Bernard write whatever words you dictate, ma Belle, and I will sign it in your presence. In return you must do something forme. I want you to learn how to read, and to write. You will be a much better chatelaine for it. Will you promise me that?” He turned her about so that she was facing him.

“Who will teach me, my lord?” she wondered.

“Father Bernard will teach you,” he told her. “Will you learn?”

“Aye, my lord, I will learn, and gladly, but will he also teach me numbers, too?” She looked eagerly up at him. “If you and
Rolf de Briard go away and leave me in charge, I must be certain the books are properly kept; that we are not cheated.”

He nodded, thinking as he did that she had the most beautiful eyes. Not the soft blue of her mother’s, but a mysterious green-gold, like a sun-dappled pond in the deep forest. Unable to help himself, he brushed her lips with his.

She drew back, her eyes darkening, half angry, half puzzled. “Why did you do that, my lord?” she demanded.

“I but sealed our bargain with a kiss, ma Belle,” he said seriously.

“Is such a thing always done?”

“Have you never been kissed before?” he answered her question with a question, knowing the answer before she spoke it.

“Who is there to kiss me, sir, and why would they want to?” Isabelle said irritably. “I am not some giggling serf girl, eager for a tumble in the woods. I saw my father kiss my mother only once, when he went off upon his crusade with Duke Robert.”

“Kissing is a fine, old sport,” Hugh told her with a quick smile. “My grandfather loved catching my grandmother unawares and giving her a loving kiss. We shall learn to know one another better if we practice kissing on a regular basis, ma Belle.”

“You are making fun of me,” she said. “I do not like to be mocked, my lord. There is absolutely no practical use for mashing one’s lips together that I can see.”

Hugh chuckled. “You are young, and you are innocent, ma Belle,” he told her gently. “In time I will show you how the skilled application of kissing can bring about a useful conclusion. Besides, it is permitted that a married couple kiss whenever and as often as they like.”

“We are not married,” she said, her tone dark. Then she somehow lost her breath as he pulled her hard against him.

“We are going to be married, and very soon, ma Belle,” he replied. His free hand cupped the back of her head firmly. “Close your eyes,” he said. “It is better when you close your eyes,
chérie
.”

Why am I complying with such a silly request? Isabelle wondered, even as her dark lashes brushed her pale cheeks. His mouth closed warmly over hers, pressing firmly, and then a frisson of enjoyment raced down her spine. She was astounded, and pulled away from him, puzzled.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I felt …” She thought a moment. “Pleasure,” she finally decided. “Aye. Your kiss gave me pleasure, my lord.”

“Then I have succeeded in my purpose, ma Belle. A kiss should be pleasurable,” he explained.

“What follows kissing?” she demanded of him.

“There is more to kissing than you have just experienced,” he said softly, gently running his forefinger down her elegant, long nose. “In time we will explore everything together, but for now I think you should find your bed, ma Belle. Your mother will wonder where you have gotten to, and I would not fret her.” He released his hold on her.

For a moment Isabelle wasn’t certain her legs would function as they should, but then she curtsied politely to him, and turning about, walked across the hall, through the door into her chamber.

The room was dark. Carefully, she wended her way around the pallet and the trundle where her servant, Agneatha, and her mother’s, Ida, were snoring in deep sleep. Since her mother had moved from the solar, Isabelle had been forced to share her bed with her. She had had absolutely no privacy. It might be almost worth marrying Hugh Fauconier to obtain her portion of the lord’s chamber, which was certainly much larger, and far less crowded than this room was now. Reaching the unoccupied side of the bed, she sat down a moment to draw off the soft shoes she wore in the house. Standing again, she undid her belt, laying it aside on a stool by the bed. Next she removed her tunic and her skirt, placing them atop the belt, then climbed into bed next to her parent.

“I will marry him,” she said low to her mother, whom she sensed was not yet asleep.

“Why?” Alette asked, curious. “Did he beat you in chess, and thereby win your respect, Isabelle?”

“I won the first game, he the second. We talked. He will not be like Father, madame. He has agreed to sign a paper. He wants me to learn to read and to write. The priest will see to it,” the girl told her. “There is, after all, as you have said, no choice. The king has commanded, and Hugh Fauconier is the king’s man. Can I show less loyalty?”

Alette could feel the tension draining from her body. “When?” she asked her daughter. “Did he say when we will celebrate the marriage?”

Isabelle shrugged in the darkness. “Let him decide, madame. It makes no difference to me.” She rolled onto her side, indicating to her mother that their conversation was over.

Relief poured over the older woman. She wondered exactly what it was that had caused Isabelle to cease her opposition to the king’s command.
He has agreed to sign a paper
. What on earth had Isabelle meant by that? Alette wondered. What could a paper have to do with convincing her unruly daughter to cooperate? Blessed Mother! She was going to have to speak to Isabelle about … about … 
it
. Could she let the girl go to her marriage without some knowledge of what was to come? Of what was expected of her?

Alette thought back to her own wedding night, and she shuddered. Robert de Manneville had been a virtual stranger; a neighbor of her uncle. She had seen him perhaps half a dozen times in her life. He was old enough to be her father, and he had a beautiful, proud wife who was the envy of every man of rank for twenty miles around. Then her aunt mentioned one day that poor Sieur Robert had suddenly been widowed. Several months afterward her uncle came to her and told her that their neighbor needed a new wife. He was willing to accept Alette despite her small dower.

“But why me, Uncle Hubert?” she had innocently asked. “Surely Sieur Robert can find a greater name to wed with than Alette d’Aumont.”

“Indeed,” her uncle had agreed, “but he wants a wife now. Those two unruly sons of his need a mother. Sieur Robert will want other children as well, for the lady Sibylle was in delicate health for many years. You’re a good strong girl, Alette. You’ll suit him well.”

There had been nothing more left to say. She was certainly given no choice. What she did not know was that no other family would have Robert de Manneville marry one of their daughters. He had a fierce temper. He had also adored his late wife. No woman following in Sibylle de Manneville’s footsteps would suit him, be she the most beautiful girl, the wealthiest heiress. Hubert d’Aumont, however, saw a chance to ally his family with a better family. He would have given de Manneville his own unmarried daughter, but she was only ten, not old enough yet to be mounted or produce children. His niece was all he had. He gladly sacrificed her to his ambition.

In the hour before she was brought before the priest to wed Robert de Manneville, her aunt Elise came to her. “I wanted to tell you all that you would need to know to please your lord in your bed sport,” she began, “but Sieur Robert has forbidden me, saying he will school you himself. Your uncle cravenly agreed with him, but I think them wrong. Still, if I speak to you of what you must know, Sieur Robert might sense it and be displeased. Then your uncle will beat me, Alette. I will tell you this only. Yield to your husband in
all
things, my child. Do not defy him in any manner. He is a hard man, and had the choice been mine,
ma petite
, I should not have given you to him.”

With these rather frightening words ringing in her ears, Alette d’Aumont was wed to Robert de Manneville. Her uncle, she knew, had gone into debt to pay for the feast that followed. When it was over, she was mounted before her husband on his huge warhorse so that they might ride across the fields to his home. It was during that ride she was given a taste of what was to come. Guiding his mount with his sinewy thighs, Robert de Manneville fondled his trembling bride’s round little breasts as they rode. He had had a great deal of wine to drink,
but he was not drunk. One hand crept up her leg beneath her skirts.

“Have you ever had your
petite bijou
tweaked, Alette?” he asked her, turning her face to place a wet kiss upon her lips.

She looked at him dumbly, not having any idea of what he meant. “
Mon seigneur
?” Then she gasped as the tip of his finger began to rub at a particularly sensitive spot of flesh she hadn’t been aware she possessed. She squirmed, but he snarled an order for her to remain still. It was virtually impossible, although she struggled to obey him. Then, to her further shock, he pushed a single, thick finger into her body. Terrified, she began to sob as the finger moved deeper inside of her, stopping suddenly.

“Good!” he said as if to himself. “You are intact. Your uncle did not lie to me. I haven’t had a woman since my Sibylle died, Alette. My juices have been pent up these last months, and I’ll not wait another moment to satisfy myself.” He drew his big horse to a stop in a stand of trees. “Now do exactly what I tell you, Alette,” he said as he lifted her from his lap. “Pull up your skirts, and straddle the horse as I set you before me,” and when she had obeyed him, he continued, “Now lean forward, my petite, as far as you can.”

She complied, but said as she did, “I cannot keep my backside from lifting up, monseigneur. If anyone should come along, I would be shamed.”

“Be patient,
ma petite
,” he said in an almost soothing voice, and he ran his hands over the milky flesh so sweetly displayed. Drawing his own ornate tunic up, he fumbled for his manhood, pulling it from his drawers. It was hard, and rampant. Raising himself slightly in his stirrups, he drew the girl back toward him, a hand upon her belly to steady her, his other hand seeking the proper passage in which to insert his raging weapon.

She felt it
. She felt it pushing into the passage his finger had but lately occupied, but whatever it was, it was bigger. Alette
whimpered, half afraid, and with the beginnings of pain. “You are hurting me,” she sobbed to him. “Please do not hurt me!”

His fingers now dug into the tender flesh of her slender hips. Forcing her forward again, he thrust hard once. She screamed. Twice. She pleaded. And finally a third time while she shrieked with pain. “Be silent, you little bitch,” he snarled. “The pain will ease, and your cries are spoiling my pleasure.” He pumped her hard, finally shuddering, and sighing gustily. “Ahhhhh! Aye, that will do until we get home,
ma petite
. I intend to have you several times tonight.” Pulling her skirts back, he lifted her into her former position, kicking his mount forward to continue their journey.

Silent tears poured down Alette’s face. Why had her aunt not warned her of this horror? The passage in her body he had so cruelly invaded ached terribly. She struggled to regain her composure, for they would soon be at her new home. She didn’t want to embarrass either her husband or herself. When they arrived, he dismounted first, lifting her down, introducing her to his sons, his servants. Alette greeted them all politely, kissing her stepsons, who glared in unfriendly fashion at her. She could barely stand. She was in dreadful pain, but she walked proudly into the Great Hall and stood accepting the toasts of de Manneville’s staff. Then she was escorted to her chamber, where Ida was already waiting.

“I will attend to myself, Ida,” she said quietly, dismissing her serving woman lest she discover her shame. Alette quickly undressed, and was mortified to find her chemise stained with bright red blood. Was her flow upon her? The blood had run down her thighs. She felt so raw where he had used her. Before she might wash, however, the door to the chamber opened and Robert de Manneville entered.

Seeing the bloody garment, the stains upon her legs, he grinned, pleased. “I did a good job of deflowering you,
ma petite
,” he said, and began pulling off his clothing.

The hours that followed were a horror in her memory. Her husband seemed insatiable in his lust for her. By morning she
thought herself half dead, and her fair body was covered with scratches and bruises. Each night that came after was a repeat of the first, until finally she was able to tell him that she was with child.