The Summer Queen (53 page)

The remark made Alienor laugh. He might be young, but he had an instinct for the right word in the right place, a skill Louis had never possessed.

He leaned back in his chair, the cup resting on his gold belt buckle. ‘My only regret is that I cannot stay in Poitiers and be a proper bridegroom. I still have urgent business in Normandy and a throne to acquire in England.’

‘That is indeed a pity,’ Alienor said, but she was thinking she could rule her own domain and be safe because she would be a married woman. She would indeed have her freedom.

‘I shall return when I have done what I must and we can become better acquainted.’ He smiled at her. ‘I wasn’t going to give this up for a more convenient moment.’

‘If you had not come, there would not have been a more convenient moment,’ she replied with asperity.

‘I realise that.’ He sent her a bright glance. ‘But I did answer your summons and I do recognise the importance of this union – for both of us.’

Later there was dancing and as Alienor clasped hands with Henry, a spark jolted through her and was reciprocated. He was a good dancer, energetic and lithe at the same time. He was taller than her but only by a little, and they moved in harmony, but the looks they sent each other were like sparks, adding frissons of desire and challenge.

Alienor’s vassals, well oiled with wine by now, demonstrated some of the more robust masculine dances of the region. Henry mastered the different steps with nimble dexterity. Alienor observed the pleasure he took in the movements and how unselfconscious he was. He could laugh at himself when he tangled a move, and take sweeping bows at the applause when he succeeded. Louis would not even have attempted to join in such sport. Henry’s enjoyment was infectious and at one point she laughed so much she had to hold her sides. It had been so long since she had felt such emotion that it almost frightened her. It was difficult to stop and she could feel the edge of tears. As the dance finished, she took the decision to retire.

Henry bowed. ‘Until the morning, madam.’ A gleam lit in his eye. ‘And tomorrow, we shall not have to bid each other goodnight at all.’

Alienor’s face grew warm. ‘No,’ she said, and departed with her women, feeling flustered. His touch tonight had roused her more than she had expected, but then she had been sleeping alone for a long, long time, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her beyond just the need for an alliance. Unless he was a complete boor in the bedchamber, it would not be difficult to make a pleasure of their wedding night.

While her women turned down the covers and freed the bed curtains from their hooks, she knelt at her little devotional altar and prayed that she had done the right thing to please God and the best for Aquitaine. She wanted to settle into a partnership of equals where she and Henry could blend their skills. She wanted unity in her household and support. She wanted children: sons and daughters who would eventually inherit her role.

Before she rose from her knees, she vowed to make this marriage as good as it could be. This time she would succeed.

Henry, who needed little sleep, did not retire until much later. He continued to socialise with the Poitevan barons, finding common ground and deciding whom he could trust and whom to watch, deliberately impressing his personality on them and issuing a warning that he was not to be trifled with despite his youth.

When Henry eventually retired, his own prayers were swiftly said, but heartfelt nevertheless. He thanked God for His goodness in dropping this plum into his lap. Alienor was attractive, even if she was nine years older than him, and she intrigued him. She was very different to Aelburgh, but then one was a mistress and one a wife and their relationships with him were on a different scale.

Thinking back to his initial reluctance to the match, he smiled ruefully. Being married to Alienor, being Duke of Aquitaine, might just turn out to be very rewarding indeed – in every way.

Alienor and Henry solemnised their marriage in the cathedral of Saint-Pierre in Poitiers. The pillars of the nave were twined with all the flowers of a full southern spring. Lilies, roses and honeysuckle added their scent to the perfume of incense, rising in veils of smoke to heaven. Once more Alienor received a wedding ring on her heart finger; once more she took the vows. For better or for worse …

Outside the cathedral, Henry faced her and brought her hands to his lips. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Now we have an empire to rule and a dynasty to raise.’

His words could so easily have sounded like the overblown bragging of an immature boy, but they didn’t. It was a serious statement of intent and she shivered with excitement, because standing on the cathedral porch in this moment, all things seemed possible.

She beckoned and a servant stepped forward and set a hawking gauntlet on her wrist. Her chief falconer presented her with one of the snowy Talmont gyrfalcons. ‘You have your glove?’ she asked Henry.

He looked round and Hamelin handed him the one Alienor had sent with the letter of proposal. Henry drew it on and Alienor transferred the gyrfalcon carefully to his wrist.

‘This is Isabella,’ she said. ‘I gift her to you as a symbol of our marriage. Only the rulers of Aquitaine have the right to fly these birds.’

Henry stroked the gyrfalcon’s pale breast with a gentle forefinger. ‘Isabella,’ he said, and gazed at the bird with delight and desire. Those emotions were still in his eyes as he turned to Alienor.

‘The females are more powerful than the males,’ she said, not showing him how much his look moved her.

‘Is that so? It is a good thing that I have a way with such noble creatures then,’ he said with a half-smile.

She raised her brows. ‘I shall be interested to see your way.’

Henry bowed. ‘I hope not to disappoint, madam.’

She tilted her head. ‘I hope not too.’

Henry was attentive to Alienor throughout the wedding feast. Sharing his trencher with her, he displayed competent carving skills and sound table manners. He was full of smiles and amiable words for everyone, but with the controlled dignity of a magnate. He also drank in moderation and Alienor was glad. She had seen what happened to young men in their cups and did not want to deal with the consequences on her wedding night.

‘What is England like?’ she asked him. ‘I have always thought of it as a cold land steeped in fog.’

‘It can be,’ he replied. ‘When you get the sea mist they call haar rolling in, then it is like being at the end of the world, but all the moisture and rainfall makes it green and lush.’

‘And that is supposed to recommend it to me?’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘It is the land of King Arthur too. There is a legend that Christ himself walked there in his young manhood. The smell of England is fresh and coastal. Its people are hardy but it is no colder than here in the winter. The English have a strong administration and judicial system and it has much wealth in wool. When my grandsire Henry was king, it was a prosperous nation. Stephen of Blois has squandered it all, but if it was husbanded properly, it could once again become a great asset.’ His expression hardened. ‘My parents strove throughout my childhood to keep alive my claim to England and Normandy. I shall not negate all their toil and I shall prevail over the usurpers.’

Alienor had not seen him so vehement before; he had guarded his emotions up to now, and this new side to him intrigued her. ‘It is a great undertaking,’ she said.

‘Indeed.’ He drew back a little, once more becoming the courtier. ‘That is why I need an exceptional wife to stand at my side and bear sons who will take the dynasty forward.’

‘I gave Louis only daughters.’

He shook his head. ‘The giving of daughters was all his. I shall give you sons, there is no question of that, and our empire shall stretch from the borders of Scotland all the way to the Pyrenees, and our influence shall be felt far beyond that, for my kin sit on many thrones, including that of Jerusalem.’

She noted his arrogance, but she believed him too, and anticipation flowed through her veins like warm wine.

The bedding ceremony was formal and dignified without boisterous jests. This was a duke and duchess being escorted to their chamber and dynastically and politically a serious matter. One or two people were rowdy with drink but were contained by the others. Pale pink rose petals strewed the bedsheets and green garlands festooned the canopy posts. Wine and light refreshments stood on a cloth-covered small table near the bedside, and the room was well lit by candles and lamps burning scented oil.

Alienor and Henry were each undressed behind screens by their attendants before being brought to each other clad in chemise and nightshirt. The Bishop bound their hands again with a stole as he had done at their marriage to symbolise their union, and blessed them, signing the Cross between their brows with holy water. The bed was liberally sprinkled with the same and Alienor and Henry placed together in the bed. Then the guests left and they were alone.

Henry faced Alienor and touched her hair. ‘It is the colour of a Roman coin,’ he said, bringing a handful to his face to breathe in the scent. ‘It smells like a flower garden strewn with spices. I have wanted to do this all day.’

Alienor leaned towards him. ‘You will not find this perfume anywhere else,’ she whispered. ‘It comes all the way from Jerusalem.’

Their lips were almost touching. His hand left her hair and lightly brushed her throat. ‘It intoxicates me,’ he said. ‘You are so beautiful.’

It was balm to her soul to hear him say that. She slowly unfastened the ties on his shirt. ‘And you are a young lion,’ she said softly.

He drew away to pull off his shirt and for the first time she saw his body. He was lithe with youth but now she realised where he got the strength to command a powerful warhorse to his will, and to hold his own with his men. He was indeed a young golden lion with broad shoulders and a toned flat belly. A light fuzz of red-gold hair formed a pectoral cross from his chest, running in a soft stripe into the rolled-over waistband of the braies he was wearing under the shirt. Suddenly Alienor’s mouth was parched while other parts of her body were soft and ready with need. It was lust, not love, and yet it was more than lust because it was sanctified by the Church and they both had a duty to see their union successfully consummated.

He took her face in his calloused palms and kissed her. His beard was soft and his lips were softer still. She returned the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. He reached down to the hem of her chemise and drew it over her head. Through his braies, she could feel the heat and strength of his arousal.

She made a move of her own because she had had enough of passivity with Louis and needed to exert her will as an equal. She kissed Henry’s upper chest and then lightly bit the tight stub of his nipple. Henry gasped and thrust against her. The buck of his hips was wildly erotic with only that layer of light linen fabric between skin and skin. She moved to his other nipple and then back up to his throat. He kissed her again, harder this time, more assertively. She reached to the drawstring of his braies, unfastened them and rolled them down over his hips; and then she gasped because he was magnificent, and far bolder than Louis’s half-mast efforts.

Henry gave a congested laugh. ‘I am ready and willing to do my duty if you are ready to do yours.’ He nuzzled his beard against her throat. Now it was his turn to nip and suckle and Alienor felt as if she was drowning in lust. He rolled on top of her and she took him in her hand, to feel all that wild young vigour. Henry shuddered and closed his eyes, and she looked at him, trying to judge how close he was, and if he would last. Without more ado she guided him into her body and welcomed him.

He gasped as she closed around him, and she could feel him trembling. He raised himself on his forearms for a moment, holding very still, and then he lowered his head and kissed her face, her throat, her neck. She ran her hands over his sides, feeling the curve of his ribs and the muscular arch of his buttocks.

He began to move. Alienor had expected him to be swift to the finish, but he exhibited both restraint and stamina. When he finally claimed her mouth and thrust hard and strongly, he took her over the edge and she clung to him, nails digging into his biceps, legs clasped around his as he gave her his seed.

Panting, he withdrew from her and kissed her gently. ‘I do not think we shall have any difficulties in the matter of the bedchamber,’ he said with a chuckle.

Rising on her elbow, she leaned over to kiss his shoulder. ‘No,’ she agreed. He was sensual and comfortable with his body – totally unlike Louis. Making love with Henry she had become a woman again, and she knew if she thought about it too hard, she might cry, which would not be a good thing to do in front of him. She had to be an equal partner.

Leaving the bed, Henry prowled the chamber like a dog examining new territory. His hair gleamed in the candlelight as he picked a date off a silver tray and ate it while studying a wall hanging that depicted a hawking scene.

‘This chamber belonged to my grandmother,’ she said, stretching. ‘I remember her holding court here when I was a small child.’

‘I have heard tell of her and your grandsire.’ He looked round with an amused glint in his eyes. ‘Was she really named Dangereuse?’

‘Who has not heard of them?’ Alienor shrugged. ‘Scandal followed them both as closely as their shadows. She left her husband for him, and they lived for their passion, but it was so strong it was almost a sickness.’

She slipped a blanket around her shoulders and went to pour wine into a single cup. Mention of her grandmother made her think of Petronella, who was just like Dangereuse. It wasn’t good to feel that obsessively about anything.

‘It was my grandsire’s name for her, and she always used it when I knew her, but her real name was Amaberge.’

‘Why the nickname?’

‘Because she was unpredictable and wild. She and my grandsire were passionate about each other beyond reason – truly it was a kind of madness. But as girls we loved the music and dancing in her chamber. We loved to hear her stories and to be swept along when she was in a good mood, but we were afraid of her too – of the darkness inside her.’