Always (4 page)

“Every bird must leave the nest one day,” she said practically. She moved to the door, only to pause and glance back uncertainly. “I never thought you would leave us, Rosamunde. I was not warned.” Adela sighed unhappily. “Thinking you would not need the knowledge, there was much I neglected to teach you about marriage and the marital bed.”

“The marital bed?” Rosamunde frowned worriedly as she noted the sudden stain of embarrassment on the older woman's cheeks.

The abbess stared at her, at a loss for a moment, then turned abruptly away. “Sister Eustice shall enlighten you,” she said abruptly. She started to slip out of the room, then paused to add, “But quickly, sister. The king is most impatient to have this business done.”

The door closed, leaving Eustice staring at it in stupefaction.

“The marital bed.”

Rosamunde turned her gaze from the closed door to Eustice at the other woman's firm words. The sister had drawn up her shoulders, her expression full of purpose, Before she could continue, though, Rosamunde asked, “Shall I dress while you explain?”

Eustice blinked at the interruption, then sighed and nodded. “Aye. Your father appears to be in something of a hurry. Mayhap that would be for the best.”

Slipping off the bed, Rosamunde quickly removed the breeches she had been wearing to work in the stables. Eustice immediately took them from her and began to fold them neatly as she began again. “The marital bed may be unpleasant, but it is your sacred duty as a wife.”

“Unpleasant?” Rosamunde paused in undoing the laces of her tunic. She eyed the other woman with dismay. “How unpleasant?”

Eustice made a face. “Quite, from what I gather. My
mother used to stay abed at least half a day after my father exerted his husbandly rights,” she confided.

Rosamunde's eyes grew round at this news. “It must be very draining, then.”

“Oh, aye,” Eustice agreed with a firm nod. “And noisy.”

“Noisy?” Rosamunde sank to sit on the bed again.

“You are supposed to be changing,” the nun reminded her. Rosamunde stood again and began to fuss with the laces of her top. Sister Eustice admitted. “When I was a child, my sister and I listened outside our parents' bedchamber one night.” She flushed at Rosamunde's arched eyebrows, and shrugged. “I was a naughty child, forever getting into mischief. Not unlike someone else I know,” she added pointedly, making Rosamunde grin. “Anyway, we listened and…”

“And?” Rosamunde prompted.

Eustice scowled at her. “Continue to change,” she instructed. She was silent until Rosamunde began to drag her tunic up over her head, then she continued. “And they made all sorts of racket. The bed ropes were squeaking, and my parents were moaning, groaning, and screaming.”

Dragging her top off over her head, Rosamunde gaped at her. “Screaming?”

“Aye.” Eustice grimaced.

“Are you sure it was the bedding? Mayhap they were doing something else.”

Eustice considered that briefly, then shook her head. “Nay. I told you, the bed ropes were squeaking.”

Rosamunde began to crumple the shirt she held distractedly as she pondered her friend's words. She took some water from a basin in the corner of the room and gave herself a quick wash.

“Here.” Eustice lifted and held out the white gown.

Rosamunde traded the top for the gown, which she immediately began to pull over her head. Pushing her hands into its sleeves, she tugged the gown down over her
hips and tugged until it lay straight. She set to work at the laces.

Glancing up from folding Rosamunde's top, Eustice frowned at the sight of her and set it aside to grab a brush. Moving behind Rosamunde, she brushed the girl's hair into a glossy cloud that lay somewhat tamely about her shoulders. Then she set the brush aside and urged the girl toward the door. “We had better hurry. Your father was nearly foaming at the mouth with impatience.”

“But you haven't told me—”

“I will on the way,” Eustice assured her as she dragged the door open. Ushering her out into the hall, she pulled the door closed, then heaved a sigh and escorted her down the hall. “As I told you, marital relations are unpleasant, but they are your duty now. But there are times when it is not allowed. For instance, while a woman is—” Pausing abruptly, she turned wide eyes on Rosamunde. “It is not your woman's time, is it?”

“Nay,” Rosamunde murmured, unable to contain a blush. Such things were never discussed.

“Good.” Eustice smiled her relief. “That would be a fly in the king's ointment. Consummation would be forbidden if you were.”

“Ah,” Rosamunde murmured with a solemn nod, a little baffled, but anxious to have the sister get off that subject and move on.

“It is also forbidden while pregnant or nursing, of course.”

“Of course,” Rosamunde murmured, gamely.

“Also during Lent, Advent, Whitsuntide, and Easter week.”

“Mm-hmm.” Rosamunde nodded.

“Also on feast days, fast days, Sundays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.”

“So, 'tis allowed only on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays?” Rosamunde asked with a frown.

“Aye. Thank goodness today is Tuesday.”

“Yes, thank goodness,” Rosamunde said with a grimace.

If Eustice heard the sarcasm, she chose to ignore it, merely continuing with her list. “It is forbidden during daylight, while unclothed, or in a church, of course.”

“Of course,” Rosamunde agreed quietly. That would surely be sacrilege!

It is only to be performed in an effort to gain a child, and then it is to be performed only once. You should not enjoy it. You must wash afterward. And you should not partake of any fondling, lewd kisses, or—”

“What exactly is
that
?” Rosamunde interrupted, and Eustice glanced at her impatiently, her footsteps slowing.

“You know very well what kissing is, Rosamunde! I caught you at it with the stable boy when you—”

“I meant the fondling,” Rosamunde interrupted, annoyed to find herself flushing guiltily at the memory of the incident with the stable boy.

“Oh, well.” Eustice scowled. “It is touching…anything.
Including
breasts. Lips are for speaking and breasts for milking—and that is that,” the nun said firmly. She sighed, her eyes shifting upward. “Now, what else…? Oh, aye, you must refrain from any of the
unnatural
acts.”

“Unnatural acts?” Rosamunde asked uncertainly.

Eustice grimaced. “Simply do not put your mouth on any part of him, or let him put his mouth on any part of you. Especially parts covered by your clothes.”

Rosamunde's eyes widened, and Eustice made a knowing face.

“It is not proper.”

“I see,” Rosamunde murmured, then raised her eyebrows. “But why must I
not let
him do so? I mean, if men are morally superior—as Father Abernott is constantly reminding us—surely he already will know all this?”

Eustice nodded at that. “True. No doubt he does know
all this. I am telling you so that you do not make mistakes. Now, here we are,” she pointed out, drawing to a halt at the doors to the chapel. She turned to Rosamunde. “Do you have any questions?”

“Aye.”

“Oh.” The sister didn't bother to hide her unease, but raised her eyebrows in question. “What is it?”

“Well…” Rosamunde swallowed. “All you have told me are things I must not do. I am still not quite clear on what exactly
does
occur.”

“Oh, of course.” Eustice paused and considered the easiest way to explain it, then shrugged. “You have seen the animals from the stables when they are in season.”

It was not a question, but Rosamunde nodded anyway.

“Well, 'tis the same thing.”

“It is the same?” Rosamunde asked with distaste. Her mind flooded with various pictures of different beasts mating. Cats, dogs, goats, sheep, cows, and horses suddenly filled her mind, a veritable orgy of stable animals.

“Aye. Now you see why it is so distasteful to ladies,” Eustice said heavily.

Rosamunde nodded in wide-eyed agreement, then asked, “Will he bite the back of my neck?”

Eustice blinked. “Bite?”

“Aye. Well, when I spied the cats behind the barn, the male cat was biting the female on the back of the neck as he covered her.”

“Oh, nay. That is only to keep the female in place. You, being a dutiful wife, will not need such action taken.”

“Nay, of course not,” Rosamunde agreed. Eustice turned to open the door to the chapel a crack and peer curiously inside.

“Will he wish to sniff my behind?”

Eustice shrieked, then slammed the chapel door closed and whirled to gape at her.

“Well, you said 'twas the same as animals,” Rosamunde said innocently. “And they sniff—”

“Lord love us!” Eustice interrupted fervently. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused at the mischievous twinkle in the girl's eye. Her gaze narrowed. “You are being naughty again,” she accused. Rosamunde managed a solemn expression.

“Oh, nay, sister.”

“Hmmm. Then shall we—”

“What does the covering consist of exactly?” Rosamunde interrupted.

“Covering?” Eustice echoed, her confusion obvious.

“Mating. For instance, when Angus the bull approaches one of the cows and mounts her. What is he doing, exactly?”

Making a face, Eustice considered her question briefly, then explained. “Angus has a thing….”

“A thing?”

“Aye. It is about…oh…yea long.” She held her hands about a foot or so apart. “And round. Well, not round, but—it is shaped rather like a cucumber.”

“A cucumber?” Rosamunde tried to picture the man in the stables sporting a foot-long cucumber between his legs.

“Aye.” Eustice seemed to be gaining strength—and speed—as she continued. “Angus inserts his cucumber into Maude, stirs it about a bit, spills his seed, and 'tis done.”

“Well,” Rosamunde murmured now, trying to be optimistic. “I suppose it could not possibly be worse than scrubbing the stone floors in the winter.” A body usually came away with chapped knees and an aching back. Spending hours kneeling on the damp stones in the drafty old convent, was her least favorite task.

“Hmm. Except for the pain, I doubt it is.”

“Pain?” Rosamunde eyed her sharply.

Eustice nodded reluctantly. “I have heard there is pain, Rosamunde, and I gather there is even blood. At least, the first time.”

Rosamunde paled. “Blood?”

“Aye. They say that it proves the bride's innocence.”

“But—”

“'Tis the price we pay for Eve's sin.”

“Eve's sin,” Rosamunde muttered resentfully. How often had Father Abernott spit that phrase at them? He had hammered it into them to the point that those words were practically branded on her soul. “I thought Jesus died for our sins? Or was that only for men's sins?” she asked dryly.

Eustice was saved from dealing with that question. The door beside them opened and a somewhat frantic abbess slid out. “Whatever is taking you so long? The king is quite wroth at this delay.”

“Rosamunde had some last-minute questions,” Eustice explained dryly.

“What sort of questions, dear?” the abbess asked kindly.

“Did not Jesus die for our sins?” Rosamunde asked.

“Aye. Of course he did,” the abbess assured her quickly, but was obviously confused by the comment.

“Then why do we suffer pain in the consummation and bleed?”

Adela's shoulders sagged, blowing her breath out in dismay. With a look that was somewhere between consternation and fond regret, the abbess merely said, “We really do not have time for such complicated theological discussions now, child. Mayhap you should ask Father Abernott that after the ceremony. Come now. Your father really is eager to have this done.”

 

Father Abernott was a stuffy little priest, normally puffed up with self-importance. Performing the marriage of the king's daughter, illegitimate or not, at the king's request, and in his very own exalted presence, had the man inflated beyond endurance. Haughtiness was oozing off him as he presided over the ceremony. The congregation was made
up of the king, Shrewsbury, the groom, a second man who appeared to be the groom's friend, and every single nun who resided within the convent—the others having begged the abbess to allow them to attend. Most of them had been at the abbey since Rosamunde's arrival and had watched her grow to womanhood with interest and affection. They were like family to Rosamunde. Which was why the abbess had given in to their pleas and allowed them to witness the ceremony. Their presence seemed merely to add to the priest's pretentious behavior, however.

Barely able to stand the man's self-satisfied expression, Rosamunde ignored his words and turned her gaze to his bald pate instead. The sight of his shiny scalp made her lips begin to tremble with wicked amusement. Every single one of the unflattering names she and some of the younger nuns had come up with to describe the man when they were annoyed with him were rolling through her mind one after the other, and threatening her with inappropriate laughter.

She quickly lowered her gaze to the skirt of her gown. It was the best she had. Made of the softest linen, it fit her upper frame snugly, then flared slightly at the waist. Hours had been spent crafting this gown, for Rosamunde had wanted it to be just right. But she had created it for taking the veil, not taking a husband. Not an earthly one, at any rate.

Stifling a small sigh, she glanced curiously at the man beside her. He seemed rather big to her, and Rosamunde was five-foot-nine herself. She had been told that her mother was more petite, but her father was over six feet tall. She could only assume that God had split the difference with her.

She had always felt tall. Most of the women here in the convent were at least two or three inches shorter than her. Rosamunde had always felt a bit gawky and overlarge around them. Next to this man, however, she felt almost petite. He was as tall and powerful-looking as her
father. She had noticed that about him before, though it was really all she had noticed at the time. Now she took a more thorough inventory of the man she was suddenly to wed.

He had a broad chest. Thick, strong arms. Thighs that bulged with strength from years on horseback. Nicely shaped calves and ankles. Hair like bright sunlight. Eyes the deep green of a grassy glen. Rugged features that hinted at battles fought and most likely won. Skin weathered by years spent vulnerable to the elements.

He certainly looked healthy enough, she supposed. Handsome as well. The laugh lines on his face were a good sign, she thought optimistically, then sighed as she tried to recall his name. Her father had said it on introducing them, she was sure. What had it been? Issac? Erin?