night,' he said, 'unless, lady, you would shrink from me, a crippled man who gives you a bed of stone.' He jested, but underneath there ran a hint of truth.
I turned to him, where his hand was slipping around my waist beneath his cloak, his clever fingers already feeling for the laces of my shift. I tried to tell him he was all that I desired, but shyness held me back. I could not speak for fear that I should weep. And then his mouth was covering mine and there was no time for words. I tried to say. It is not meet but those words did not come either.
Now I think that he was right, now I believe that it is both right and just that life should be born of death, that after sadness, pleasure comes; grief is not forgotten because it is put aside for its place. We lay beside each other on the ground. Everything was still, only the beating of my heart like a drum. Nothing mattered then, Henry's revenge, our present danger, the loss of Sieux. It was the first time since our marriage we had been alone, cut off from the rest of the world.
'And now I have you, ma mie,' he said, his hand about my breast. I felt his thumb brushing against the tip, I felt myself arch up, felt him trace down between parting thighs. 'What more meet than Norman pleasure his lady to her heart's desire.' Mouth to mouth, body fitted shaft and cleft, his fingers moved upon a feathered tide. And when I met each thrust, I heard myself cry out like a bird, high and exultant. He wound my hair about my throat and stopped the sound with his own mouth.
‘Ann,' he said, 'who has bedeviled me since first we met, so you are now bid welcome to your castle keep. If all is lost, we have had this.'
Well, this was the homecoming we had. I cannot distinguish now, nor could not then, pain from pleasure; bitter-sweet it was and like all the rest foretold, both true and false, so intermixed you could not tell which was which. Well again, grief there was, and happiness, and if no safety yet a homecoming of sorts. And if nothing else, we had had this.
3
Presently he slept, an uneasy sleep, and I noticed how often his left hand stretched, tensed, toward his sword hilt. So at Sedgemont had he lain, after his wounding when his men had placed an unsheathed blade within his grasp to let him have the feel of it. Athwart the moon, new rain clouds were already gathering, casting shadows across his face. What thoughts, what fears, lay behind those dark-fringed eyes, to make him start and turn? Who here was hunter, who the hunted, what the snare? One thing was certain: there was nowhere else left for us to go; his other lands in France, Auterre, Chatille, were too scattered, too small, unfortified. Nor should we look for friends; Sieux was ringed with enemies. And suppose that Sieux could not be rebuilt, suppose Henry's army came back, suppose Raoul's right arm did not heal . . . you see how my thoughts went turn and turn about, to make me twist as restlessly. Not for the first time, I took comfort in the memory of my mother, Efa of the Celts, that lady whom I had never known, how she had left her kin, married a Norman who had been her father's enemy. Her marriage had not been easy at the start, yet in the end, it had turned to love. They say my father, Falk, saw her first on the walls of a mountain fort which he and his men had taken under siege. On seeing her, a soldier in battle's heat, he had desired to possess her, made a bid to take her as a hostage for his orderly retreat. Thus a truce was signed between him and the Celts; an ill-omened start for marriage, you would think, yet so strong was the bond between them, my father and this Celtic bride, that in losing her, part of him had died, that in losing her son, his own heart and life had ceased. Should not I hope as much from my marriage to a Norman lord? But then, I thought of what the lady of the moors had hinted at. Once in our Celtic world, there were many women who possessed such ability
I turned to him, where his hand was slipping around my waist beneath his cloak, his clever fingers already feeling for the laces of my shift. I tried to tell him he was all that I desired, but shyness held me back. I could not speak for fear that I should weep. And then his mouth was covering mine and there was no time for words. I tried to say. It is not meet but those words did not come either.
Now I think that he was right, now I believe that it is both right and just that life should be born of death, that after sadness, pleasure comes; grief is not forgotten because it is put aside for its place. We lay beside each other on the ground. Everything was still, only the beating of my heart like a drum. Nothing mattered then, Henry's revenge, our present danger, the loss of Sieux. It was the first time since our marriage we had been alone, cut off from the rest of the world.
'And now I have you, ma mie,' he said, his hand about my breast. I felt his thumb brushing against the tip, I felt myself arch up, felt him trace down between parting thighs. 'What more meet than Norman pleasure his lady to her heart's desire.' Mouth to mouth, body fitted shaft and cleft, his fingers moved upon a feathered tide. And when I met each thrust, I heard myself cry out like a bird, high and exultant. He wound my hair about my throat and stopped the sound with his own mouth.
‘Ann,' he said, 'who has bedeviled me since first we met, so you are now bid welcome to your castle keep. If all is lost, we have had this.'
Well, this was the homecoming we had. I cannot distinguish now, nor could not then, pain from pleasure; bitter-sweet it was and like all the rest foretold, both true and false, so intermixed you could not tell which was which. Well again, grief there was, and happiness, and if no safety yet a homecoming of sorts. And if nothing else, we had had this.
3
Presently he slept, an uneasy sleep, and I noticed how often his left hand stretched, tensed, toward his sword hilt. So at Sedgemont had he lain, after his wounding when his men had placed an unsheathed blade within his grasp to let him have the feel of it. Athwart the moon, new rain clouds were already gathering, casting shadows across his face. What thoughts, what fears, lay behind those dark-fringed eyes, to make him start and turn? Who here was hunter, who the hunted, what the snare? One thing was certain: there was nowhere else left for us to go; his other lands in France, Auterre, Chatille, were too scattered, too small, unfortified. Nor should we look for friends; Sieux was ringed with enemies. And suppose that Sieux could not be rebuilt, suppose Henry's army came back, suppose Raoul's right arm did not heal . . . you see how my thoughts went turn and turn about, to make me twist as restlessly. Not for the first time, I took comfort in the memory of my mother, Efa of the Celts, that lady whom I had never known, how she had left her kin, married a Norman who had been her father's enemy. Her marriage had not been easy at the start, yet in the end, it had turned to love. They say my father, Falk, saw her first on the walls of a mountain fort which he and his men had taken under siege. On seeing her, a soldier in battle's heat, he had desired to possess her, made a bid to take her as a hostage for his orderly retreat. Thus a truce was signed between him and the Celts; an ill-omened start for marriage, you would think, yet so strong was the bond between them, my father and this Celtic bride, that in losing her, part of him had died, that in losing her son, his own heart and life had ceased. Should not I hope as much from my marriage to a Norman lord? But then, I thought of what the lady of the moors had hinted at. Once in our Celtic world, there were many women who possessed such ability
Similar Books
