Castle of Dreams (6 page)

A group of noblewomen, some rather too far
gone in wine to see very clearly, accompanied Isabel to her room.
There her servants undressed her and the women made the required
inspection of the naked bride, to be certain she had no serious
physical flaws. The little ceremony was not as bad as Isabel had
feared it might be. She stood quietly, letting the women look at
her, fully conscious that some were casting envious glances at her
slender, high-breasted figure and creamy skin, now just slightly
warmed by a gentle blush. Then the women were done with her and
they trooped out, giggling and gossiping, going back to the
feasting and drinking that would continue all night.

After the women had left Joan and Agnes
fluttered about, tidying the bedchamber, putting things away. They
got Isabel into a long-sleeved linen robe, and then they left her
alone to await her husband. Isabel quickly discarded the robe and
got into bed. Now that the public part of this evening was over,
she was more excited than afraid. Joan had warned her there would
be some discomfort at first, but that what her husband did to her
would be pleasurable. Lionel was good-looking, and when he had
kissed her to seal their marriage vows, his lips had been soft and
gentle on hers. Surely he would do nothing to harm her. Joan had
spoken of tenderness and warm feelings. Isabel waited, her eyes on
the door.

She heard men in the next room, and
boisterous laughter. She thought she heard the king. Then there was
a period of silence, followed by two voices that went on and on,
using muffled words too low for her to hear. An ominous note in
those voices carried to her straining ears. Isabel’s nerve began to
fail. She was certain now that one of the speakers was the king,
but she could not imagine why he would stay so long outside her
chamber when he was host at the great feast still going on in the
banquet hall.

At last the bedroom door opened and Lionel
appeared, wrapped in a loose red robe. Isabel smiled at him, her
confidence beginning to return at sight of the handsome man. He
moved toward her, his steps a little unsteady, almost reluctant.
His face was very red, his blue eyes unnaturally bright.

“This must be done to make the marriage
legal,” Lionel told her.

Did he think no one had explained to her what
was expected of her now? Was that why he hesitated so far across
the room from her? She hastened to reassure him.

“I understand, my lord. I will try to please
you.” She smiled again, a bit tremulously this time, because
something about his attitude was beginning to frighten her.

“Pleasure has nothing to do with it,” Lionel
said. “It is an unwelcome duty, no more.”

He threw off his robe and stood naked by the
bed. He was breathing heavily. He had a fine, wide chest covered
with golden hair, and strong, muscular arms. His legs were long and
straight, but Isabel barely noticed them. Her eyes widened, caught
by the sight of the fully erect manhood now presented to her view.
She gulped, then reminded herself it was her duty to be agreeable
to him. Remembering what Joan had said, she felt excitement begin
to knot inside her. She pulled back the covers.

“Will you come to bed, my lord?” she asked.
She moved a little to make more room for him beside her.

“This won’t take long,” Lionel said, pushing
her down onto the sheet. He pulled her legs apart rather roughly
and lay down on top of her.

“What are you doing?” Isabel cried. This was
not at all what she had imagined from Joan’s description. Wasn’t he
going to kiss her and tell her how lovely she was? She felt
something hard pushing against the flesh between her legs, and
realized it was his swollen manhood. The feeling was most
definitely not pleasant. “Please, my lord, don’t do that.”

“Be quiet,” Lionel ordered, pushing harder.
Isabel clamped her lips together, trying to obey him.

The bedcurtains had not been drawn, and by
the light of the candle on the bedside table she could see his
reddened face. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt.
Isabel knew something was wrong, but she did not know what.

Lionel tried again. Isabel could not stop the
cry of pain that came from her lips. Then she realized he had
succeeded in his purpose. He was inside her body. Perhaps now it
would get better. He moved quickly, panting, his face so red it was
almost purple. He was not hurting her so much any more. In spite of
her outrage at the abrupt way Lionel was using her, she began to
feel the faintest beginning of something that might in time become
enjoyable. Just as her arms reached around his waist, Lionel
stopped what he was doing, and a moment later rolled off her.
Isabel lay with her face turned away from him, biting her lower lip
and trying not to cry with disappointment.

“Thank God that’s over,” Lionel said.

There was only one possible explanation
Isabel could think of for what had just happened.

“My lord,” she asked, bravely fighting back
the tears, “Was this the first time for you, too? Did you not know
you should be gentle with me, and that we would feel tenderness for
each other?”

“The first time? For me?” He burst into
laughter. He laughed so hard the heavy bedcurtains shook, and tears
ran down his cheeks.

“Tenderness?” He was off again, consumed by
his mirth. “Tenderness! I must remember to tell William that.” He
could not speak further for laughter.

Isabel was appalled. Surely Lionel would not
speak to the king about something so private. She sat up and looked
at him, waiting until the spasms had passed and he was calmer.

“My lord,” she said at last, struggling to
regain some shred of dignity, “You hurt me badly just now. I had
been led to believe lovemaking would be pleasurable.”

“Really?” he said, sobering. He looked hard
at her, and she realized for the first time just how shrewd and
cold his beautiful blue eyes were. “Who led you to believe that?
Some fumbling squire at your father’s castle?”

“No, my lord.” She could not seem to call him
Lionel, though that was now her right. The word simply would not
come out of her mouth. “It was Joan, my maid, who told me. Since my
mother is dead, Joan undertook to explain what I needed to know.
She said she and her husband took much pleasure in each other, and
that you and I would find the same in time. But I do not think that
can be if you are always so rough with me. Do you think you could
be more gentle the next time?”

Now Lionel sat up too.

“This evidence of your virginity,” he said,
indicating the splotches of blood on the sheet between them, “is
proof that our marriage was consummated, all that was needed to
make it completely legal. I have now fulfilled the bargain made by
my father with yours. There will be no next time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Lionel looked
tired, the ruddiness gone out of his face.

“Most noble marriages are made the way ours
was,” Isabel said, “so that husband and wife are strangers when
they come together, but they usually manage to live peaceably with
each other. Why cannot we? You will need an heir, my lord.”

“If there is a child born of this night’s
coupling, well and good. If not, Guy remains my heir.” Then Lionel
added, so low she could just hear him, and with an astonishing
amount of venom, “That should displease my parents enough, I
think.”

She gaped at him, not certain she had heard
him aright. Both his parents were dead. Why should he try to
displease them now? Why displease them at all? Then the full
meaning of his words struck her. This man was refusing to be her
husband in fact.

“You have a duty to me!” Isabel exclaimed,
insulted anger tearing at her. She would not accept a mere marriage
in name. She had done her part, now Lionel owed her more than this
cold treatment. It was her right to bear the child who would be the
next heir to Adderbury. “You cannot deny me my wifely rights. I
will tell my father.”

He caught her golden hair, pulling it hard,
hurting her, and made her look at him. Her husband’s handsome face
swam before her, blurred and distorted by the tears of humiliation
and rage filling her eyes.

“You,” Lionel told her, his voice a
dangerous, husky whisper, “will say nothing to anyone of what has
happened here tonight, or of what we have said. Do you understand?
One word, one murmur, and I will kill you and say it is because you
have been unfaithful to me, and I’ll see to it that your entire
family, even to distant cousins, suffers disgrace because of you. I
can do it. You must have noticed how King William favors me.”

She believed him. She trembled before the
barely repressed violence of this terrifying husband of hers. She
was too frightened by him to realize that the fury and the pain she
was too innocent to see in his eyes were in part directed against
himself. She nodded in silent acceptance of his terms. Lionel
released her and looked at the stain on the sheet.

“That will separate us,” he said. “You on
your side, I on mine. For the next few nights, to avoid offending
your father, whose knightly valor I respect, and to make clearer
the validity of our marriage, I will sleep here, as any bridegroom
would, but I promise I will not touch you again. Afterward, I’ll
sleep elsewhere. No one will remark it. Many husbands and wives at
this court live separate lives.”

“You will not send me away from court?” she
begged, hoping to salvage that much at least of her shattered
dreams. She thought she would die if she were to be shut up in a
gloomy castle somewhere far from all society.

“No.” Lionel propped himself on one elbow to
look appraisingly at her. “You can be more useful to me here. You
have a taste for luxury, I think. I remarked your gown and jewels
today. I have many gifts the king has given me in recompense for my
careful attention to his desires, gifts it would suit me ill to
wear in public until my position is more secure. But you, my
dutiful wife, could easily display such finery. It would flatter
and please the king, and everyone else would think I am a doting
husband. Yes, you will stay at court, Isabel. We will make a most
amusing pair. If, in the future, you become boring, I can always
send you off to Adderbury. For now, I will keep you close by my
side, dear wife.” Lionel lay down again and composed himself for
sleep.

“Don’t forget to put out the candles,” he
said.

The most surprising thing Isabel discovered
about her new life at the English court was that she was not
entirely unhappy. Thrown completely on her own resources for the
first time in her life, separated from familiar sights and friends,
unable to speak freely to her servants any more, she ought to have
been miserable. Strangely, she was not. Her girlish dreams of
marital bliss with a noble knight were gone, but there were
compensations.

Lionel treated her like some fascinating new
toy, draping her in golden necklaces and rings and jeweled girdles,
and dressing her in rich clothes. Her gowns were made in the
latest, slightly laced style, against which priests from their
pulpits had thundered denunciations and threats that the ladies
wearing such garments were doomed to eternal damnation for
corrupting the minds of mortal men. Isabel merely shrugged at
clerical displeasure. The new gowns were not uncomfortable, they
barely grazed her waist in spite of the laces on either side, and
since she was slender and likely to remain so – her one unhappy
experience of copulation having no consequences other than a
reluctance to try it again – she wore the dresses Lionel chose for
her and laughed at more conservative ladies. Lionel liked her to
parade her clothes and jewels in public. It was the one way she
could please him, and when he was pleased he gave, or rather lent,
to her even more luxurious baubles.

Maintaining the public appearance of a normal
marital relationship was a strain at first, requiring a good deal
of adjustment on Isabel’s part. She had never before had to pretend
to be happy, but now she had to choose each word she spoke
carefully and guard all her gestures and her facial expressions.
She proved to be surprisingly good at dissimulation, never
revealing to anyone that there was aught wrong between herself and
Lionel.

It was easier after her father left the court
to return to Brittany. She said goodbye to him with many tears,
knowing she would very likely never see him again and yet glad to
have him go. With his sharp, too-familiar eyes gone, she could
relax a little. She was certain Sir Fulk was unaware of the nature
of the man to whom he had given his beloved daughter, and after
Lionel’s threats on their wedding night, Isabel dared not reveal
the truth to her father.

From remarks overheard from spiteful
courtiers, both male and female, Isabel had quickly discerned her
husband’s true relationship to the king. She was horrified and
disgusted, but there was nothing she could do about it. Lionel was
her lord and master, and she his chattel, and if she confronted him
with her new knowledge, he would send her away to Adderbury.

“Sir Lionel no longer sleeps with you. I hear
he has his own room now, though gossip says he seldom spends a
night there.” That was Lady Aloise, a dark-haired beauty just a few
years older than Isabel, whose aged husband, Sir Stephen of Dol,
had been an advisor to William the Conqueror. Lady Aloise had
stepsons ten years and more older than she was. “Consider yourself
fortunate, my dear Isabel. Sir Stephen is virtually useless in bed,
but he insists on joining me every night. He snores. At least you
are able to rest peacefully.”

Isabel did not know what to say. She had not
yet grown accustomed to the outspokenness of most courtiers. In her
pious father’s castle, everyone, particularly the womenfolk, had
behaved with great decorum.