"Elizabeth, you have known me all your life. Look at me. I am Roger, the same Roger you have teased and tormented for years, and I love you. How can you fear me?" Her chin trembled. "Love, do not weep. Will you be less afraid in the dark?"
She did not reply, but all intimacies were easier in the dark so he doused the candles, except for the distant nightlight, and made his way back to the bed mostly by the glare of the fire. He got in beside her but did not pull the bed curtains; the cheerful flames were a reassuring sight, and they provided little light. Gently but inexorably he forced her down onto the pillows. Her skin was so warm to his touch that he knew his hands were cold and his heart was pounding thickly; he too was afraid, although of different things. It was so important to him that she be content. He had never really cared much before. Of course, he had wished the various women who had been his bed companions to find the association pleasant, but he had not much cared whether they found heaven or a pleasant garden … they were only women. This was Elizabeth; for her it had to be heaven.
"Roger—"
"Yes, it is Roger," he replied to the trembling question almost in a whisper, slowly, making his voice relaxed and soothing.
"Help me," she cried.
Hereford's stomach turned. For a split second he really thought of going away and leaving her alone, but he knew that was insane. Sooner or later she must truly become his wife and the sooner the better for them both. The longer he delayed the more frightened she would be and the less able he would be to command himself.
"I will, my dearest," he said finally in the same low tone. "Can you tell me of what you are afraid?" Then she made her first voluntary movement. With a violent shudder she turned into his arms. "I wish, Elizabeth, that I could tell you I would not hurt you, but that would be a lie. I must hurt you—are you afraid of that?"
"No—yes—only a little."
He found her lips then but did not kiss her full upon them. Often it was better to touch only the corners of a woman's mouth. Her face was wet with tears although she was not sobbing and the salt taste made Hereford's breath catch. He stroked her arm very gently a few times and then, still stroking the arm with the palm of his hand, extended the fingers so that they just brushed her breast.
"Oh!"
It was a little startled cry, half gasp, half groan. Hereford had to stop kissing her, had to stop thinking about her physical being; she was not ready and she was not helping him, but neither that knowledge nor the long experience he had of restraining himself while bringing a woman to the proper pitch made any difference. He knew well he should wait, continuing his caresses until a new tension gripped her, but he could wait no longer.
She cried out and twisted her shoulders as if to get away. "Lie still, Elizabeth," he murmured softly.
Relaxed after the last shudders of his satisfaction had passed, Hereford continued to caress his wife, murmuring endearments. His eyes were closing, but he did not wish to leave her hurt and angry while he slept. She was not crying now, it was true, but for all he could tell she had turned to stone again.
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Are you angry?"
"You have only had your right. Why should I be angry?"
"Elizabeth, do not use that cold tone to me. I did my best to be gentle with you. You are my wife, and I love you. Are you still afraid?"
"No. Oh, Roger, let me be. Do not ask so many questions. Go to sleep."
"I cannot sleep," he replied huskily, "when I think that you are dissatisfied with me or, even worse, when I feel that I have made you unhappy." He sat up. "What have I done wrong? Where have I failed you?"
"Nay, Roger, if there is a failure it is mine." She reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. "I warned you not to take me to wife. I cannot be other than I am. Lie down now and sleep; I am not angry or even much hurt. I only want a little peace to think."
"Think? About what, at such a time?"
"What do you care?" she blazed furiously, touched on the raw. "Do you believe that because you have used me like a sow that I have become one? We have mated, but I can still think."
"Is that how I have used you?" Hereford asked, missing the point completely. He lay down then, flat on his back and stared up fit the draped curtains. "I have sinned much, Elizabeth, and often have I been told of my evil ways, but never before this have I felt so foul."
"No, Roger, no. I did not mean that—it was not— You were very kind, and you used me most gently, I am sure." She turned and put her arms around him, for she knew she had hurt him without purpose. It was not his fault if he could not understand. It was not right to torture Roger because she had made a mistake. She kissed him gently, contritely; it was the first kiss she had ever voluntarily bestowed upon a man not her blood relation.
"Elizabeth," he said softly, after a long pause during which she had almost drawn back, thinking her wordless apology had not been accepted, "I pray you to have a care what you say to me."
"I will so often make you unhappy, Roger. I am cursed with a wicked tongue."
"If it is but your tongue, dear heart, I can bear it." He turned now and looked earnestly into her face. "It is when your heart pours out of your mouth that I—I am distressed."
What he saw in her face must have satisfied him, although Elizabeth felt no different and had no idea what it was, for he sighed and pulled her so that her head rested on his shoulder. Throwing a leg across her, he gave a satisfied grunt and rubbed his cheek on the top of her head. Not two minutes later the change in the rhythm of his breathing told Elizabeth that he was asleep. Across the smooth curve of his pectoral muscles she watched the flames in the hearth. Roger was one of the best, she thought, unconsciously caressing his shoulder and bearing the unaccustomed weight on her thighs with a certain pleasure, but it had been a bad mistake to marry at all.
Pride and vanity had originally driven her to it, together with the physical desire for him which she denied, for Roger was the best catch in the kingdom and she wished to show that the hopeless spinster of twenty-four could win him. Now that she had him, she knew that the satisfaction of pride and vanity were not enough. "Love" gave her no happiness, only a craving that she would not permit Roger to satisfy and, worst of all, she knew her position to be untenable. She could not give a little of herself as she could to her father and retain the rest separate, for herself alone. Either she must give Roger nothing of herself, or give him all.
It was warm and comfortable in the bed, and Roger's even breathing was comforting too. He tightened his arm around her in his sleep. Perhaps it would not be so bad. It was very pleasant to have that breath pass her ear and feel his firm flesh pressed against her. She did not need to decide now, Elizabeth told herself, not realizing that she had decided. Certainly it would be wrong to disturb Roger with personal matters when such great political stakes hung in the balance. Until Henry of Anjou was on the throne of England, she would do her best not to distress her husband. I will just stay as I am, she told herself, and realizing that the sheets were cold snuggled closer to Roger's warmth, putting the seal on the change she had already made.
CHAPTER 6
ELIZABETH, LADY HEREFORD, LOOKED WITH DISTASTE AT THE SHEETS HER
mother-in-law was displaying to the assembled guests. She had bled very little, the combination of her very active life and Roger's experienced gentleness and consideration mitigating to a great degree the usual results of defloration. In fact, she had to leave the bed before the few spots which bore witness to her virginity could be found. Elizabeth had not seen Anne although she understood by the chaff that flew back and forth that she had given a better display of her maidenhood or, as Roger protested, laughing, of Rannulf’s clumsiness. He certainly seemed in excellent spirits, capping every remark made with one still more suggestive; however, when the witnesses to the successful marriage night left to allow the married pair to dress, he sobered suddenly and sat down thoughtfully silent.
The men were going out to hunt, for sport not food this time, and Elizabeth had merely drawn on a robe since there was no hurry for her to dress. She was assembling her husband's clothing somewhat awkwardly, not knowing exactly where his things were kept.
"Roger, I cannot find any cross garters except these fine silk ones. Where—"
"Never mind that now, come here."
"What is it?"
He pulled her into his lap.
"Oh, Roger, enough. You will be late."
"There can never be enough," he replied slowly with curving lips although he had not been thinking about that. "You were better pleased with me this morning than last night, were you not?" Elizabeth colored slightly but lifted her chin with an arrogant gesture to which Roger reacted with more laughter. "Nay, no smart answers now. Will you admit that the right man is needful to a headstrong woman?" He put a hand against her mouth to dam the quick, angry retort. "The truth—I have a reason for asking."
"The truth then … yes. But that does not mean—"
'That you will admit that I am right for you." He finished the sentence for her with dancing eyes. "You little viper. You will sting me when I have sweated so to please you. Of all the ungrateful—no, no, you must not strike your husband." Now he had her hands and laughed harder than ever at her frustrated fury. "Gently, my love, I was only teasing you because you are so beautiful when you are angry. But I do have a real reason for speaking. My mother—"
"Hates me, and I am to be good and proper this day to please you.” She snorted. “You have begun well to put me in such a humor. I am fit to please no one, and your mother—"
"Least of all. Stop, Elizabeth. I care nothing what lies between you and my mother. You are both old enough to fight your own battles. So long as you do not draw me into them, you may both do as you please. Let me finish what I am saying and do not put words into my mouth."
"Only you have that privilege, being my lord and master. Well, I—"
He kissed her, damming her lips. "And so will I do each time until you hold your tongue and listen."
"You will have enough of kissing then, for—"
Her words were smothered again, and this time when he let her go she was silent and turned her face away. A toy, so swiftly had she become just that—a toy. Only a little while past her body had answered to his, just a little, because she could not completely control it, and what she had feared had come to pass. Desperately she strove to stiffen her resistance, but too much had happened too quickly.
"Elizabeth?" Roger was saying, gently, questioningly. "I was only jesting with you because your lips are sweet. Dear heart, what is wrong?"
"Nothing. Say what you would say. I will listen."
"Love, it is funny to make you angry, but you are not angry now. Somehow I have hurt you. That I did not mean."
Of course he did not mean it, she thought. To him it was only natural that all women should be playthings. "Roger, I can bear no more explanations. Whatever you will have of me—take."
He was much disturbed by her depressed passivity and totally without a clue to its cause, but it seemed safest to question her no further. "I have only a small favor to ask of you—you need not trouble yourself with it if you do not wish."
"A favor?" To go to bed again or to cook a special potage, Elizabeth thought bitterly. "What is it?"
"You have seen my youngest sister, Catherine, I know, but have you ever spoken with her?"
"Not much." There was more life in Elizabeth's voice. Certainly this was not what she had expected.
"Do. She is an interesting girl—spoiled, my fault, I suppose, and Walter's too because he dotes upon her. She is bold, headstrong, and—"
"You mean, just like me?"
"Yes, my dearest love, just like you. Quiet—I will kiss you again. If you continue to interrupt me, I will be late for that hunt. I am looking for a husband for Catherine." He explained the choice available and mentioned the question of whether he should seek alliance just now or chance obtaining a greater match by waiting on the outcome of the spring campaign. "My mother will not look to see the girl's preference—if she has any—because she says it does not matter and that Catherine must be pleased with whom I choose. Since she will not, will you do that for me, love?"
"Do you think that is right, Roger? That a girl should make such a choice?" Elizabeth's voice was carefully noncommittal, but she fixed her eyes on her husband's face with a painful intensity. A great part of the future pattern of her own life might hang on his words.
Cheerfully unconscious of the importance of his answer, Hereford wrinkled his brow slightly over her question. He was often troubled to find the proper words even though the ideas were perfectly clear in his head. "Right? What is right? This is not a matter on which the Church or the Law may speak with authority; this is a matter of a person. Every person is different. Look you, Elizabeth, I did not seek to find Anne's preference. I chose Rannulf for her; she never even saw him before he came here for the wedding. That was right for Anne. If I had given her a choice, or she knew that I wished to know her preference, she would have been terrified. Unless he turn into a monster, Anne will be happy with Rannulf—or any other man for that matter. Anne is like unto my mother as two peas in a pod. Catherine is different."
"How different?"
"I do not know, I cannot tell you, but this I know. If Catherine were not pleased she would not weep and pray. No, love, nor like you rage and storm, for though in jest I said she was like you, she is not. You have a light that shines within and shows you the true path. Mayhap there are times," he said, smiling, "that you first cast thorns and boulders in the way and then climb over them, but you do not wander from the road. Catherine—though I love her dearly—like Walter is the sort who would easily bring dishonor on her name."
"Roger! She is not yet fourteen years old. How can you say such a thing of your own sister?"