A King's Ransom (101 page)

She was not happy to see that some of the men had brought flagons of wine with them, for that might make it harder to get rid of them. For reasons that escaped her, men seemed to think it hilarious to drag out the bedding revelries long past the point where the unhappy bridegroom had lost all patience. She occasionally saw a familiar face as they moved within her limited range of vision. Her nephew Otto looked as if he’d rather be elsewhere; she imagined he was not comfortable envisioning his own aunt in the throes of carnal lust. Her brother Johnny did not seem to be taking an active role in the bantering, either, and she wondered if he, too, felt protective of her. That seemed out of character for Johnny, but she could not rule it out, for every now and then he gave her an unexpected glimpse of the boy he’d once been. She could not catch everything that was being said, for it often seemed as if they were all talking at once, their words wine-slurred and interspersed with bursts of loud laughter. But the jests she did hear were rather tame, nowhere near as raw or crude as she’d expected, and she suddenly realized why; even men in their cups were leery of being disrespectful of the Lionheart’s favorite sister.
Richard and Berengaria’s own bedding-down revelries must have rivaled a nunnery for decorum and propriety,
she thought, stifling a giggle.

When she finally saw Raimond, she frowned, for he was still dressed. The men would be here all night at this pace. Someone made a toast to “storming the castle” and someone else expressed the hope that Raimond would “plant his seed in fertile soil.” She’d given up trying to identify the voices by now, so she did not know who cried out that they ought to drink to the “conquest of Sicily.” She could hear wine cups being clanked together and sighed with relief when she saw Raimond sit down so he could remove his shoes and chausses, thinking this would soon be over. They began teasing him about taking so long to undress, laughing uproariously when he said good-humoredly that the only person he was interested in getting naked with that night was his wife. But it all changed for Joanna when she heard an unfamiliar voice say with a sneer that there was no need to strip since he’d be praying over his bride, not swiving her.

Most of the men seemed to assume that the speaker meant Raimond would be heeding the bishop’s plea for contemplation, not consummation, and there was some halfhearted laughter, for few thought the joke all that funny. Joanna knew better and from the look on Raimond’s face, she could tell that he did, too. This was not a jest aimed at a bridegroom, it was a jeer aimed at a Cathar. Clearly the Norman speaker—and she could tell from his accent that he was Norman—believed that Raimond was a heretic at heart and would shrink from sins of the flesh even on his wedding night.

“So you are saying that I’ve just been wed to one of the most beautiful, desirable women in all of Christendom and I am going to abstain like a monk? Now, why is that?”

Joanna was proud of Raimond for taking up the challenge so boldly, but she was furious, too, that some drunken Norman lout would dare to bring his biases into her bedchamber, casting a shadow over her wedding night. She tucked the sheet carefully around her and before the man could respond, she pulled the bed hangings back.

That at once drew all eyes toward her and men began to jockey closer, hoping for a chance to see some skin. Joanna ignored them. “My lord brother, may I have a word with you?”

It was highly unusual for a bride to participate in the bedding-down revelries, and there were murmurings of astonishment. Even Raimond looked startled. Only Richard took it in stride. Approaching the bed, he leaned over, his expression quizzical. But by the time Joanna was done whispering in his ear, he was grinning. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. Turning back to the gaping men, he declared, “My sister is greatly troubled, for she fears that strange men have invaded her bedchamber.” He paused then, for dramatic effect. “Even worse, she suspects that they might be French!”

That evoked laughter, as he’d known it would. Looking around the chamber, he pretended to be shocked, exclaiming, “By God, she is right! Well, we’ll have none of that. This is Rouen, not Paris. Out, the lot of you!”

They didn’t like that, for it was looking as if there would be a confrontation between the count and the Norman knight, and they were not happy with either Joanna or Richard for spoiling their fun. But then Richard seized Raimond by the arm and when they realized he was going to be ejected, too, they were immediately enthusiastic. That would be a great joke, holding the groom hostage down in the hall whilst his bride slept alone on her wedding night. Laughing, they started toward the door.

Richard had to laugh, too, at the expression on his sister’s face. He wasn’t sure if it was dismayed indignation or indignant dismay, but he thought if looks could kill, he’d be writhing in the floor rushes. Raimond was balking, and Richard winked, hoping he’d take the hint. He apparently did, for he no longer resisted as Richard ushered him toward the door. The others were already trooping into the stairwell and André helped to get the stragglers moving by telling them to clear a path, for he thought he was going to puke. Just as Richard reached the door, though, he came to a sudden halt.

“Wait, what if they come back? We know the French are not to be trusted. Best to leave a bodyguard. My lord count, are you up to guarding my sister’s body against all intruders?”

“I am sure I can rise to the occasion, my liege,” Raimond assured him and before the men milling about in the stairwell could object, Richard pushed Raimond aside and plunged into the stairwell himself.

Raimond at once slammed the door and slid the bolt into place, cutting off the protests as the men realized they’d been hoodwinked. “Alone at last,” he said, as Joanna shook her head, torn between amusement and exasperation.

“For a moment or so, I could cheerfully have throttled Richard,” she admitted. “I thought he was serious!”

“It would not have mattered, love. I was not going to be removed from this chamber, not even if I had a knife at my throat.” Raimond glanced around the room, pointing to a gilt flagon on the table. “Do you want some wine?” When she declined, he crossed to the bed. “I was hoping you’d refuse. Now I shall demonstrate how quickly a man can shed his clothes if he is properly motivated.”

Joanna was sitting up, no longer being as careful of the sheet’s slippage. “This is where a modest, demure young woman would blush and dutifully avert her eyes, having been taught that it is not seemly to look upon male nudity. Alas, I am not particularly modest, not at all demure, and dutiful only on occasion.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, with a laugh that was muffled as he pulled his tunic over his head. His chausses and shoes were already off, and his linen shirt soon followed. She knew he’d just celebrated his fortieth birthday that summer, but his body still had the leanness of youth, and she thought he was either very active or just one of those lucky souls who never had to worry about putting on weight. His skin was dark and smooth, unmarred by the battle wounds that so many men proudly flaunted, although she did see one thin white scar along the outer side of his right thigh. She yearned to touch it, to trace its path with caressing fingers, but then the scar was forgotten as he slid his braies down over his hips.

Joanna’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my!”

He grinned, glancing down at his erection. “And to think I’ve not yet seen you naked, love. But Luc needs very little encouragement, always ready for action.”

Joanna gave a surprised lilt of laughter. “You named it?”

“Why not? One of a man’s most intimate relationships is with his cock. Not only are they constantly urging us to sin, but most women are sure we do our thinking with them, too. Luc is actually named Lucifer, for he has been trying to lure me to Hell since I was a raw lad of thirteen or so.”

By now he was in bed beside her and stopped her laughter with his mouth. It was not their first kiss, for they’d managed to find a few moments of privacy after his arrival at Rouen. But Joanna soon discovered that those quick, stolen kisses were nothing like this, with their bodies entwined, her breasts pressed against his chest, the feeling of his swelling erection on her thigh.

By the time they ended the embrace, they were both breathless. “Luc, meet your new mistress,” he murmured. “Clearly he’s fallen utterly under your thrall, my lady. Be merciful with him.”

Joanna laughed again, amused that he’d be quoting from the troubadours at a moment like this. “I think I am going to enjoy being married to you, Raimond de St Gilles.”

“Of course you will.” He’d begun kissing her throat, lowering his head to her breasts. “Three years is a long time to wait, love. I’ll do my best to avoid racing to the finish line, but you need not fret. If this first time is for me, I promise the second time will be all yours.”

Joanna was not sure what he meant; she was too caught up in what he was doing with his mouth and his hands to pay much heed to his words. She returned his kisses and caresses without shyness, for they were man and wife now, not illicit lovers, and she was soon squirming under him, clinging so tightly that she’d leave scratches on his shoulders. She did not even realize she was crying out his name, aware only of her body’s fevered heat and the urgency of her need.

Raimond knew she was ready, but he still delayed, prolonging the delicious torment until he dared wait no longer. She gasped with his first thrust, shuddering, and he said, “Stay still, love. Wait . . .” Once he was sure he had Luc under control, he began to move slowly then, watching her all the while, for he loved to see a woman yield to passion, sorry that so many of them denied themselves such pleasure, sure it was a forbidden sin that would send them to Hell. Joanna was moaning, tossing her head from side to side on the pillow as his thrusts became faster, deeper. He kissed her again, his mouth hot on hers, and then she convulsed under him and he no longer held back, listening only to his body now until he also cried out and collapsed on top of her.

For a few moments, neither moved, unwilling to break the bond. When he finally raised up and withdrew, she felt bereft. Propping herself up on her elbow, she reached out and traced the curve of his mouth with her finger. “Oh, Raimond . . .” No more than that, but there was no need to say more.

He took her finger in his mouth and gently sucked. “It was not like that with your husband?”

“No . . . I enjoyed sharing his bed, but it was never like that. Why was it so different with you?”

“Because I’m a better lover?” He laughed. “No, Joanna, there is no great secret to it. I told you once that most men pay little attention to the female brain. Well, even though they think about the female body for most of their waking hours, they do not really know much about it. Some of them never learn that men reach the top of the mountain faster than women do. It is simply a matter of giving a woman the extra time she needs to get there.”

When he put his arm around her, Joanna slid over, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. “Sometimes with William, I’d be left wanting more, but I did not know exactly what that was. Not until tonight.” After a moment, she began to laugh again. “I was just thinking of all the qualities I wanted in a husband. That he’d be highborn, of course. That he’d view the world with humor and if he had a temper, that he’d hold no grudges. That I’d find him pleasing to the eye. That he’d be a Christian; I’d taken that for granted until Richard offered me to Saladin’s brother. But never once did I think that he ought to be good at climbing mountains!”

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and brushed his lips against her temple. “I can see that you are going to do wonders for my male pride, love. And if you harbored any misgivings about whether I was a secret Cathar or not, I trust that I’ve put them to rest.”

She studied his face, surprised to realize that he was only half joking. It must be a heavy burden at times, knowing that so many suspected him of heresy. “If I’d had such doubts, you’d have dispelled them quite spectacularly tonight. But I did not, Raimond. As I see it, you are guilty only of exercising tolerance, and in Sicily that was not a sin.”

She’d assumed that all men wanted to go to sleep soon after lovemaking, for that had certainly been true with William and other women had confirmed it, too. She was pleased now to see that Raimond showed no such inclination. Instead of rolling over and bidding her good night, he rose and began to prowl about the chamber, saying they must surely have thought to leave out some food. Finding a bowl of dried fruit and nuts, he poured a cup of wine for them to share, snatched up a towel, and brought his booty back to the bed. Handing her the wine cup, he slowly patted her dry, making each touch of the towel feel like a caress. Reclaiming the cup, he said, “Wait . . . did you say Richard offered you to Saladin’s brother?”

He listened in obvious delight as she related her brother’s creative scheme to drive a wedge between the sultan and al-Adil, shaking his head in wonder once she was done. “How lucky he was that the French never found out about that. Instead of him being exonerated at Heinrich’s court, they might have burned him at the stake!”

Joanna agreed, intrigued to see that Richard had just gone up in Raimond’s estimation. “At the very least, it would have convinced the Germans that what our enemies say about us is true, that we trace our descent from the Devil’s daughter.” So then she had to tell him about Melusine, the Demon Countess of Anjou, confessing that her brothers had liked to boast about her, to the horror of any churchmen within earshot. “And what I did tonight will only add to our family’s black legends,” she said, giving him a look that managed to be both teasing and seductive. “I slept with Lucifer!”

He laughed so hard that he almost overturned their cup. “And the night is not over yet. Lucifer might well tempt you again, my lady.” He leaned over then to give her a long, wine-flavored kiss. “How right I was to take you on faith, love!”

Joanna was no longer smiling. “It is true I did not give William a son, a living son. Yet if I conceived once, surely I can do so again.”