Alinor (30 page)

It was not that Ian doubted his skill as a lover in a general way. He knew he was well able to satisfy any normally passionate woman, and he was quite sure Alinor was perfectly normal. Nor was he reluctant to perform his marital duty; in fact, he thought wryly, watching his none-too-sober friends bear down on him, there was his trouble. He was a bit too eager. Again, in a general way, that would not have mattered—but this first time— Fool, he told himself, think of something else. You will be finished before they get your clothes off if you do not.

The immediate problem was solved by Ian's drunken escort. Ian had dispensed with his splint that morning, feeling that it would be an unwelcome adjunct to a wedding bed. His friends, however, were in no fit state to help him up the stairs properly, and the pangs in his knee served, temporarily, to cool his passion. The calming effect did not long outlast his arrival in the upper great chamber where, for lack of space in Alinor's bedchamber, the disrobing ceremony would take place.

Alinor, gowned and bejeweled and wimpled in a gold veil so fine that her white skin gleamed through, was an exquisite creature. Alinor quite naked, except for the black mane that hung to the middle of her thighs, was enough to bulge a man's eyes and stop his breath. Then the women drew back her hair and lifted it so that all her perfections and blemishes would be clearly visible. Ian's prompt reaction brought shouts of laughter, applause, snapping fingers, and stamping feet.

The jests flew thick and fast, the ladies as quick to laugh and top one sally with another as the gentlemen. There was no fault to be found with either party. Alinor's vigorous life had prevented her pregnancies from marking her. Except that her breasts were somewhat fuller, her belly a little rounder, and a few faint blue lines of stretching were apparent, she might have been an unwed maid. This fact drew some complimentary remarks, but it was Ian's condition, naturally enough, that called forth most of the comments. It was great fun, but in spite of the roaring fire, it was not comfortable in the month of December to stand naked for long. Isobel saw that Alinor was shivering, and pulled at her husband's sleeve to point out the bride and groom were cold. Wine had temporarily wiped Simon from Pembroke's mind.

"For God's sake," he bellowed, "let them go or they will both be as stiff and blue with cold as Ian's knee."

"Wait, wait," Salisbury shouted, as bedgowns were brought forward to wrap the chilled pair, "what if the knee remains stiff? Will you repudiate Ian for lameness, Lady Alinor?"

It was a serious consideration, but Alinor had had a few drinks, too. "No," she responded gravely, but with dancing eyes. "I take cognizance of all stiff parts, knees and otherwise, and I state before witnesses that I will not repudiate my husband if those parts remain stiff."

"Alinor!" Ian exclaimed.

"Quick," Llewelyn exclaimed, "into bed with them before they can begin to quarrel. I do not wish to spend any time making peace. I have an appetite that needs to be satisfied at once."

A few minutes more of chaos terminated with Alinor and Ian side by side in her big bed. One more flurry of laughter and some urgent calls for action, and they were alone. The silence, broken only by the hissing of the flames in the fireplace, was a shocking contrast. Alinor turned her head, still smiling at the last jests, but Ian was staring straight ahead into the dark outside the area illuminated by the night candle.

"Did I really offend you?" Alinor asked, striving to keep the chagrin from her voice.

"No, of course not." He turned now and smiled, but his mouth was stiff and his body tense. "I— I―"

"What is it, Ian?" Alinor asked, reaching toward him.

"Do not touch me!"

Alinor's eyes widened. That was a protest for a virgin maid, not for an eager man.

"Oh God!" Ian choked on laughter. "I do not mean that. I mean— Some nights past I swore I would content you. I am not so sure I can."

"What?" Alinor shook her head in disbelief and surprise. "How can you say such a thing? Two minutes ago you were showing the whole world how able and ready you are to content me."

"I am too ready," Ian cried, laughing helplessly. "I greatly fear that if I lay one hand upon you or you upon me, my overripe readiness will burst."

Alinor giggled, although her breath was coming short and quick. "Think of something nasty," she suggested, "disemboweled horses, slimy drinking water―"

But Alinor was not really worried. She knew it would not matter. She had been longer without mating than Ian, and the sight of him, the rough jests, were stimulation enough. She needed no preparing this night; she was as ready as he. He could hardly be too quick for her this time, unless he could not hold himself for even two strokes or three. She leaned closer, as if to whisper more horrors in his ear, and tickled it with her tongue instead.

That was enough. Ian pushed Alinor flat and flung himself upon her. The movement wrenched his knee cruelly, but he did not feel it then. Once, his shaft slid past her sheath. Alinor shifted eagerly and the second thrust brought him safely home. Together they groaned as if mortally wounded, but neither was dead yet. For one long moment Ian held his breath, straining chest and shoulders upward and away while his hips pressed down, perfectly still. Alinor held her breath, too. Then his head came forward, his eyes opened; his battle had been fought and won. Gently he let himself down upon her, sought her lips; slowly he began to move, seeking the position and rhythm that would bring her to joy.

"You are no oath breaker," Alinor said eventually.

Her head was nestled comfortably into the hollow of Ian's shoulder, her whole body pressed against the length of his. Both were exceedingly well pleased with themselves and with each other, but Alinor's satisfaction was somewhat the keener. For that, although she did not think of it, she had to thank Simon also. Among other bitternesses of loss Alinor suffered, not the least was the loss of the comfort of a warm, strong body beside her in her bed. That emptiness was now filled.

"It was a near thing," Ian sighed, grinning, "and I will give credit where it is due. You delayed me not at all in the performance of my promise." He sighed again, contentedly. Then the arm around her stiffened a trifle. "We left the bed curtains open," he said in a low voice.

"What of it?" Alinor asked sleepily. "The children will not come in at this hour."

Ian's lips, parted for speaking, remained parted merely to smile. True enough. It did not matter. This was his bed, his wife, his right. There was no need to hide his desire or his satisfaction from anyone. His! Completely and entirely his! Not to be shared with a legal husband as so many "loves" of the past; all her beauty, all her passion—his. Ian drew a deep breath of happiness and gratitude, for what Alinor displayed was truly a clean passion, not lust. The enormity of her pleasure, the ecstatic cries and writhings were an additional joy to him and no sign of weakness in her. Knowing what pleasure she denied herself, yet she had been able to deny herself. The memory of Alinor's pleasure sent a flush of heat through Ian's loins. His arm tightened around her; his hand sought her breast. Quite unaware of the towering virtues with which she had been endowed—which would have given her great amusement had she known—Alinor made a sleepy, contented sound. Ian bent his head to kiss her, but found only her cheek. Satisfied and half asleep, Alinor had slipped back into the familiar role of long-time wife.

"Have you cried 'enough'?" Ian whispered.

The voice, rich and pleasant, but very different from Simon's bass rumble, reminded Alinor she was a new-wedded wife. "I thought
you
had," she replied, stretching sinuously.

"I have only blown the froth off the beer," he said. "Now I am ready to drink in earnest." He started to turn toward her but desisted with a slight gasp.

Alinor could feel him gathering himself for another effort, and she put a hand on his shoulder to keep him flat. "You hurt your knee," she murmured. "I should have thought of that, but my mind was elsewhere."

"Mine also. That was how I came to hurt it. It does not matter," Ian insisted.

"No, of course not," Alinor agreed, "but there is no reason for you to be uncomfortable. Lie still and let me play the master. You will not regret it."

It was a novel idea to Ian. For one thing, his hasty couplings of guilt had left little time for experimentation. Even when husbands are known to be absent, there are always other prying eyes to avoid. For another, Ian had always automatically assumed the dominant role as a lover and, because he seldom remained long with a mistress, none had known him well enough or securely enough to suggest innovations for which there was neither need nor excuse. He did not answer, but Alinor could feel the tension of preparing to move go out of him.

She lifted herself on one elbow to lean over him, kissed his lips softly, moved her mouth to suck his throat and then his ear. Her free hand caressed his body, playing it as a skilled minstrel plays a harp. Simon was not a young man, and Alinor had been taught many tricks that wake and build passion. When Ian began to writhe and strain upward toward her, she left off what she was doing with her mouth to murmur, "Quiet. Be quiet. Your pleasure will be greater if you lie still."

He was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, gasping air, when she mounted him. Even then she played with him until he moaned aloud and whispered, "Please, please," but Alinor knew he had no desire to end the sweet torment. He could have ended it at any moment by gripping her and going into action himself. Instead, he cried for mercy, but he lay very still. Only it could not last forever. As Ian's passion mounted, so did Alinor's. There came a time at last when she could no longer think of him at all. The indescribable pleasure-pain of orgasm took her. She plunged upon him, unheeding, gripping his hair, crying aloud.

That time it was Ian who spoke first, when he had caught his breath a little. "Enough," he whispered, laughing feebly. "If you do that to me again, you will kill me. You have made good your threat. I cry, 'Enough.'"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Have I ever told you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?"

In the act of pulling the bedcurtains shut, Alinor turned. "No, you have not," she replied tartly, "and it is just as well, because it would have given me grave doubts as to your truthfulness. Beautiful I may be, but I am no match for Queen Isabella and a goodly number of others."

Ian laughed and shook his head. "There are other things than perfection of feature that make beauty. Perhaps if you were both statues, Isabella would be lovelier, but I care little for statues. Come back to bed."

He laughed again at the conflict in her face—pleasure at the demand, a ready kindling of desire, concern for the lateness of the hour and the many tasks waiting. "I am sorry to disappoint you," he continued, "but I have no ardent intentions. Well, I do have, but I must needs master them. I have a good deal to tell you, and I do not know where else or when else we may be private."

"Ireland?" Alinor asked apprehensively, drawing on her bedrobe and returning to sit beside her husband.

"Yes, but not for me as yet. That can wait. The first thing is whether Adam knows his part in today's ceremony."

"Yes, of course. I have been over it with him often enough, and his armor and sword are ready. God forbid some devil will enter him and make him misbehave, but I do not think it. He is delighted with his own importance."

Ian's face softened with affection. "Even when he is a devil, you cannot help but love him. But I must warn you that Adam is like to put us into trouble. He has so enchanted Leicester, Oxford and Salisbury that I believe all
three
will offer to foster him."

"Mary have mercy!" Alinor exclaimed. "How can I say no to any one of them? Will they come to me today?"

"I do not know. I tried to put them off. I told them— what they knew—that the boy was too young, and then I said straight that I wished to be sure how the king received the news of our marriage before I burdened any one with a child of ours. I mean―"

Alinor touched Ian's hand. "Say what you will. If Simon can hear, it will give him only joy to know what you feel."

It was not Simon's reaction Ian was concerned with. Alinor had changed since the last time they had spoken of the children in this sense. Thank God for that, Ian thought He knew he had been foolish. In the idle weeks of waiting for the reavers, or just waiting, desperate to think of anything except Alinor and incapable of drawing his mind far from her, he had planned this and that for "his" children.
He
had occasionally called them that even when Simon was alive, but now it was a habit. Had Alinor taken it ill, things would have been difficult. Do not be a fool, Ian reminded himself. Just because she does not fly into a rage over this and she coupled with you gladly, do not leap ahead too fast.

"Ian," Alinor continued after a moment of thoughtful silence, "he is too young, but mayhap it would be well to—to promise him to someone, someone the king will not be willing to offend. When the vassals and castellans have sworn to him, he must swear to John or you must swear for him. Once he is brought to the king's notice―"

"So you thought of that, too. I did not like to say it for fear of worrying you. Yet John is not all evil. He does not speak spite, or show it either, to Pembroke's boys, and he treats them full lovingly."

"That may be true, but they are older than Adam. Moreover, I do not want Adam in the king's train. I do not like what I hear about the men John has about him. I have had my differences with my grandfather and with Simon, too, on the subject of honor and duty, but when all is said and done I know that without them a man is no more than a two-legged beast. Adam―"

"You do the child an injustice," Ian interrupted hotly. "He has high pride, and his soul is clean of evil. A little mischief is nothing. He owns a fault bravely, even when he knows he will be whipped for it."

"Yes, because he has been taught honor, and he has had as examples only Simon and you—even Beorn has a rough honor. Perhaps you are right and he would hold fast to his early teaching, but why put such a burden on a youngling? Why tear his soul? Why make him ashamed of the master he must serve? There is another thing. Simon's lands are new bought and new seissined. There is no long loyalty to the Lemagne arms and name. Adam must know the art of war and know it well. He will need to overmaster his vassals before their loyalty is perfect."