Read Online The Sister Queens by Sophie Perinot - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sophie Perinot
Ads: Link
feast,” says a man standing near to the king. I cannot know his name, but I am sure I soon will, for his manner of address suggests great familiarity with my future husband. “All the preparations.”
“We will save the celebration for the Lady Eleanor’s coronation. If she does not object, surely no one else can.” Henry looks again, rather meaningfully I think, at the archbishop.
“If Your Majesty wishes, I can be ready in an hour,” the prelate replies.
“His Majesty does wish.”
MY NUPTIAL MASS DRAWS TO a close. Like the ceremony of betrothal at the cathedral door preceding it, I felt strangely absent from the service. Still, I do believe I smiled and spoke as the situation required, and everyone around me looks abundantly pleased with me.
As we leave the altar, the king turns to Edmund Rich and says, “You had best come at once and bless the marriage bed.”
“At once?” The venerable archbishop forgets his manners in his amazement.
“I have waited many years for a wife,” Henry replies, his eyes sparkling. “I will not wait an hour longer.”
I am bustled without ceremony to an apartment in the castle where I made ready for my wedding. While Agnes and my ladies undress me, a host of servants stoke the enormous fire in the grate, bring in wine, and warm the sheets on a large, carved bed, which they garland with swags of costly fabrics in rich colors. I am redressed in a chemise of finest chainsil so delicate that I can see every curve of my own body as I sit before the mirror of polished steel to have my hair combed. Before Agnes can finish, a knock sounds at the door. She pulls me to my feet and covers me with a fur-lined pelisse even as the door swings open to reveal the archbishop of Canterbury, still magnificently clad in the vestments in which he celebrated my nuptial Mass. With him are several priests swinging censers of incense, and behind them a half-dozen noblemen whom I saw in church, escorting my husband. Like the others, he is still in his court finery.
My ladies lead me to the foot of the bed, and the archbishop makes the sign of the cross over me as his attendant priests circle me and nearly choke me with their incense. After praying over me,the archbishop turns to the bed and, after his priests administer a goodly dose of incense there as well, sprinkles it with holy water, praying all the while. I am too nervous to pay much attention, but I hear mentions of Sarah, Rachel, and Rebecca, matrons of the House of David, and numerous allusions to the Blessed Virgin.
Then, quick as they came, they are all departing, Agnes with a quick peck on my cheek as she goes. Henry of England and I are alone.
Stepping forward, the king takes my hand and leads me not to the bed but to stand before my mirror. Directing my attention to my own image by gesture, he says, “You are beautiful.”
And I am. My hair is a glorious mass of auburn touched with gold; my cheeks are flushed pink with agitation.
As I watch in the mirror, Henry lifts the pelisse from my shoulders and drops it to the ground. I hear a sharp intake of breath. His hands take my waist from behind, pulling me against him, and I feel the heat of his body through my shift. He kisses my neck where it meets my shoulder, his right hand wandering over my body to cradle my breast, and it is my turn to gasp. Then turning me, the king takes my face in his hands. At this distance his drooping eyelid gives him a sly rather than sleepy look. Pulling me to him, he puts his mouth upon my own. He nips at my lower lip and slides his tongue between my lips. So this is kissing. It is not unpleasant, though I do close my eyes without thinking.
My husband takes his mouth away and lifts my shift up over my face and head. Caught up in my new experiences, I had momentarily forgotten what comes next. My sudden nakedness has a sobering effect. I shiver both with cold and trepidation.
The king scoops me up in his arms as if I were a child and deposits me on
“We will save the celebration for the Lady Eleanor’s coronation. If she does not object, surely no one else can.” Henry looks again, rather meaningfully I think, at the archbishop.
“If Your Majesty wishes, I can be ready in an hour,” the prelate replies.
“His Majesty does wish.”
MY NUPTIAL MASS DRAWS TO a close. Like the ceremony of betrothal at the cathedral door preceding it, I felt strangely absent from the service. Still, I do believe I smiled and spoke as the situation required, and everyone around me looks abundantly pleased with me.
As we leave the altar, the king turns to Edmund Rich and says, “You had best come at once and bless the marriage bed.”
“At once?” The venerable archbishop forgets his manners in his amazement.
“I have waited many years for a wife,” Henry replies, his eyes sparkling. “I will not wait an hour longer.”
I am bustled without ceremony to an apartment in the castle where I made ready for my wedding. While Agnes and my ladies undress me, a host of servants stoke the enormous fire in the grate, bring in wine, and warm the sheets on a large, carved bed, which they garland with swags of costly fabrics in rich colors. I am redressed in a chemise of finest chainsil so delicate that I can see every curve of my own body as I sit before the mirror of polished steel to have my hair combed. Before Agnes can finish, a knock sounds at the door. She pulls me to my feet and covers me with a fur-lined pelisse even as the door swings open to reveal the archbishop of Canterbury, still magnificently clad in the vestments in which he celebrated my nuptial Mass. With him are several priests swinging censers of incense, and behind them a half-dozen noblemen whom I saw in church, escorting my husband. Like the others, he is still in his court finery.
My ladies lead me to the foot of the bed, and the archbishop makes the sign of the cross over me as his attendant priests circle me and nearly choke me with their incense. After praying over me,the archbishop turns to the bed and, after his priests administer a goodly dose of incense there as well, sprinkles it with holy water, praying all the while. I am too nervous to pay much attention, but I hear mentions of Sarah, Rachel, and Rebecca, matrons of the House of David, and numerous allusions to the Blessed Virgin.
Then, quick as they came, they are all departing, Agnes with a quick peck on my cheek as she goes. Henry of England and I are alone.
Stepping forward, the king takes my hand and leads me not to the bed but to stand before my mirror. Directing my attention to my own image by gesture, he says, “You are beautiful.”
And I am. My hair is a glorious mass of auburn touched with gold; my cheeks are flushed pink with agitation.
As I watch in the mirror, Henry lifts the pelisse from my shoulders and drops it to the ground. I hear a sharp intake of breath. His hands take my waist from behind, pulling me against him, and I feel the heat of his body through my shift. He kisses my neck where it meets my shoulder, his right hand wandering over my body to cradle my breast, and it is my turn to gasp. Then turning me, the king takes my face in his hands. At this distance his drooping eyelid gives him a sly rather than sleepy look. Pulling me to him, he puts his mouth upon my own. He nips at my lower lip and slides his tongue between my lips. So this is kissing. It is not unpleasant, though I do close my eyes without thinking.
My husband takes his mouth away and lifts my shift up over my face and head. Caught up in my new experiences, I had momentarily forgotten what comes next. My sudden nakedness has a sobering effect. I shiver both with cold and trepidation.
The king scoops me up in his arms as if I were a child and deposits me on
Similar Books
