Read Online Devil's Consort by Anne O'Brien - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne O'Brien
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determination not to be bested twice in one day by a woman.
As the hours and the miles passed, I felt his anxious eyes travel over me when my muscles shrieked their weariness and my eyelids threatened to close. Yes, he had concern for me, I thought. There was no malice in the frequent glances, even though I had insisted and must now pay the price. I doubted there was a malicious bone in his body. But I would give him no cause for complaint. I stiffened my shoulders, set my mindagainst aching muscles and chafed skin and pushed my horse—a clumsy, raw-boned creature but the best to be had in the circumstances—on again into a gallop.
‘Did you hear what they called him?’ Aelith whispered over a shared cup of wine at the next brief halt. ‘At the feast?’
‘Yes.’
‘Colhon! Stupid as a testicle!’
‘No need to repeat it!’
What woman would wish to be wed to a figure of ridicule?
Taillebourg. At last. In the considerable fortress belonging to one of my more loyal vassals, I was shown into the private quarters of Geoffrey de Rancon where comfort closed around me. Too exhausted to do more than give passing thanks for the hospitality, I took possession. A bathtub was commandeered, hot water ordered. My body might ache unmercifully from crown of head to feet but I would go clean to my marriage night. I looked at the lord of Rancon’s bed, appreciating the solid wooden frame and silk hangings complete with down mattress and fine linen sheets. The whole might not match the splendour of mine but it would suffice. Better than the threat of a dank and very public ditch.
Anticipation was a pleasant murmur in my blood as the servants arrived with a tub and buckets of water. I was neither unwilling nor anxious. I sensed that Louis, an ignorant child-monk, would have more qualms thanI. I laughed softly, perhaps unfairly. Louis would not have the good Abbot to offer advice on this occasion. The water steamed, herbs filled the room with aromatic fragrance, my limbs cried out for soothing. Aelith fussed to unlace me. I cast off my gown, my undergown, my full-length shift.
A knock sounded on the door. I raised my hand to the chambermaid to forbid entry, but too late. The door opened and Louis himself, still in tunic, boots and hose and mail, stepped in. He halted on the threshold, pushing back his coif, thrusting a hand nervously through his matted hair, which clung wetly to his neck.
‘Forgive me.’ With a shy smile and what could only be described as a charming little bow, mailed gloves still clutched in his hand as if he had come straight from the stabling—as perhaps he had—he took in our surroundings. ‘I came to ask after your well-being, my lady. I see that everything has been provided for …’
His words dried. His jaw dropped. His eyes focused on my legs, where they became fixed, until they slid nervously away to my face.
‘My lord?’
‘Madam!’
I waited.
‘That … that garment …’
It had been made for me, of chamois leather. Soft, figure-hugging, hard-wearing and above all protective, it enclosed my body, covering each leg as with a soft skin of its own. Wonderfully supple, wonderfullyliberating, it enabled me to move and stretch with great freedom. And to ride without discomfort. As accommodating as a man’s chausses on which it was clearly modelled.
‘Excellent, is it not?’ It pleased me to tease him. His opinions were as inflexible as stones set in gold. His reaction was much as I had anticipated.
‘It is indelicate, madam!’
‘Do you expect me to ride well nigh a hundred miles, astride, in a shift? In linen drawers perhaps?’
‘No … I … That is …’ Louis stumbled.
‘I had them made for me. For hunting. We enjoy hunting in Aquitaine.’
‘It is not seemly. The women at our court in Paris would shrink from wearing such a garment.’
‘A woman from Paris would not shrink from it if she had to flee for her life on one clumsy animal after another! But do your women
As the hours and the miles passed, I felt his anxious eyes travel over me when my muscles shrieked their weariness and my eyelids threatened to close. Yes, he had concern for me, I thought. There was no malice in the frequent glances, even though I had insisted and must now pay the price. I doubted there was a malicious bone in his body. But I would give him no cause for complaint. I stiffened my shoulders, set my mindagainst aching muscles and chafed skin and pushed my horse—a clumsy, raw-boned creature but the best to be had in the circumstances—on again into a gallop.
‘Did you hear what they called him?’ Aelith whispered over a shared cup of wine at the next brief halt. ‘At the feast?’
‘Yes.’
‘Colhon! Stupid as a testicle!’
‘No need to repeat it!’
What woman would wish to be wed to a figure of ridicule?
Taillebourg. At last. In the considerable fortress belonging to one of my more loyal vassals, I was shown into the private quarters of Geoffrey de Rancon where comfort closed around me. Too exhausted to do more than give passing thanks for the hospitality, I took possession. A bathtub was commandeered, hot water ordered. My body might ache unmercifully from crown of head to feet but I would go clean to my marriage night. I looked at the lord of Rancon’s bed, appreciating the solid wooden frame and silk hangings complete with down mattress and fine linen sheets. The whole might not match the splendour of mine but it would suffice. Better than the threat of a dank and very public ditch.
Anticipation was a pleasant murmur in my blood as the servants arrived with a tub and buckets of water. I was neither unwilling nor anxious. I sensed that Louis, an ignorant child-monk, would have more qualms thanI. I laughed softly, perhaps unfairly. Louis would not have the good Abbot to offer advice on this occasion. The water steamed, herbs filled the room with aromatic fragrance, my limbs cried out for soothing. Aelith fussed to unlace me. I cast off my gown, my undergown, my full-length shift.
A knock sounded on the door. I raised my hand to the chambermaid to forbid entry, but too late. The door opened and Louis himself, still in tunic, boots and hose and mail, stepped in. He halted on the threshold, pushing back his coif, thrusting a hand nervously through his matted hair, which clung wetly to his neck.
‘Forgive me.’ With a shy smile and what could only be described as a charming little bow, mailed gloves still clutched in his hand as if he had come straight from the stabling—as perhaps he had—he took in our surroundings. ‘I came to ask after your well-being, my lady. I see that everything has been provided for …’
His words dried. His jaw dropped. His eyes focused on my legs, where they became fixed, until they slid nervously away to my face.
‘My lord?’
‘Madam!’
I waited.
‘That … that garment …’
It had been made for me, of chamois leather. Soft, figure-hugging, hard-wearing and above all protective, it enclosed my body, covering each leg as with a soft skin of its own. Wonderfully supple, wonderfullyliberating, it enabled me to move and stretch with great freedom. And to ride without discomfort. As accommodating as a man’s chausses on which it was clearly modelled.
‘Excellent, is it not?’ It pleased me to tease him. His opinions were as inflexible as stones set in gold. His reaction was much as I had anticipated.
‘It is indelicate, madam!’
‘Do you expect me to ride well nigh a hundred miles, astride, in a shift? In linen drawers perhaps?’
‘No … I … That is …’ Louis stumbled.
‘I had them made for me. For hunting. We enjoy hunting in Aquitaine.’
‘It is not seemly. The women at our court in Paris would shrink from wearing such a garment.’
‘A woman from Paris would not shrink from it if she had to flee for her life on one clumsy animal after another! But do your women
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