Winter Song (12 page)

Initially startled and thinking he had hurt her again,
Raymond’s fast approaching climax was delayed by a few essential minutes. Alys
had torn her mouth free of his to breathe, but now she turned her head toward
him to kiss his cheek and chin. Her hands relaxed, ran up his body, then
stroked the back of his neck. Urgency restored, Raymond began to move again,
but there was less pleasure in it when Alys lay relaxed, her body flaccid.

“Move,” he bade her, almost angrily. “Put your legs around
me. Move.”

She obeyed him instantly. Alys clutched him tight with both
arms and legs, rose to meet him, wriggled against him, and kissed his shoulders
since, in his final extremity, he had lifted his head and strained backward. A
single cry was wrenched from him, and he fell forward. Both lay quiet.

After a few minutes, little light kisses on his cheek and
ear broke Raymond’s doze. “No more,” he mumbled. “I am drained out.”

Alys chuckled. “I will not importune you, but I cannot
breathe while you lie atop me.”

“Beg pardon,” he sighed, rolling off.

He was asleep again before he stopped rolling, and Alys was
not far behind, her rest delayed only by the time it took her to snuggle close
to his warm body. One of the drawbacks Alys had found to being a small person
was that her body did not generate enough heat to warm the featherbeds quickly.
Generally, Alys fell asleep feeling cold. It was an added pleasure of marriage
to have a source of heat provided. Pressing herself firmly against Raymond’s
back, Alys slept also.

For several hours Raymond was too heavily asleep to be aware
of anything. However, after that he started to shift his position. The attempt
to turn brought him hard against Alys, who was still plastered to his back,
seeking warmth. Raymond uttered a muffled oath, and Alys squeaked as his weight
came down on her arm.

He jerked upright and Alys asked him why he had sat up. She
had been wakened completely by the pain when Raymond bent her arm unnaturally.
Not ever having shared her bed, except with a maidservant when she was so young
as to be in danger of falling out, although too old for a cradle, Alys knew at
once whose body was beside her. Raymond said collectedly that he needed to use
the pot. Whereupon he got out of bed and suited his actions to his word.

“Do not put it back,” Alys said, crawling out also.

She was frozen when she returned to bed and pressed herself
passionately into her husband’s arms. These were open to receive her, but as
soon as they did, Raymond yelped with shock. Her icy hands and feet had made
contact. Then he began to laugh.

“What is it?” Alys asked.

“I am much aggrieved,” he replied.

Since he was still chuckling, Alys did not feel worried by the
words. “My lord and husband, how have I offended?” she asked meekly.

“I thought you desired me,” Raymond said, “but it is plain
that I am no more to you than a bag of hot sand.”

“No, no,” Alys protested with innocent gravity. “You are
more than that, for sand soon grows cold and you stay warm.”

“What?” Raymond cried, half teasing and half outraged. “Do
you find no pleasure other than my warmth in my company?”

He was disappointed. Although tension and a long, active day
had brought him to bed fatigued and his own relief had further blurred the
final moments of his nuptual coupling, Raymond had carried a strong feeling of
pride into sleep. It had seemed to him that Alys had shown more than compliance
during their mating, and it was not every man, he told himself, who could bring
a woman to joy her first time. He could not mention the matter himself, but if
one should ask… But now it seemed it had not happened. The slight chagrin was
dissipated by Alys’s giggle.

“But you told me I must not importune you, my lord.”

“What?” he bellowed. Alys turned her face into the pillow,
her shoulders shaking, but Raymond was not deceived. He turned her back
promptly and asked, “When?”

Because the bed curtains had been pushed back when they left
the bed, Raymond could see Alys widen her eyes into a stare of innocence. “Why,
my lord, when I only kissed you to wake you because—”

The sentence ended in another squeak as Raymond squeezed
her, but as soon as she got her breath back, she continued indefatigably,
“Besides, could a modest maiden—”

That time Raymond stopped her mouth with his lips. “You are
maiden no longer,” he said, “and as to your modesty, even when you were a
maiden, I had my doubts.”

“Yet in some things I
am
modest,” Alys murmured, the
laughter gone from her voice. “I would not know how to ask. I only know country
words. Surely so precious a set of jewels must have a more elegant name.”

“No,” Raymond muttered, drawing breath suddenly. “Stop,
Alys. You will make me too eager.”

She obeyed him, but he found that the further adventures of
her questing fingers were almost as stimulating, and soon they were coupled
again. This time Raymond was confident about her reaction, and when they were
finished he held her almost as close as while they made love. This had been
true pleasure, all pleasure, he thought. No sin to confess and do penance for,
no need to sneak and hide for fear of talk or a husband, and to make better
best, Alys was sweeter than all. Even the most experienced whore had been
unable to arouse in him the heat that Alys’s innocent explorations had
generated. Moreover, with her he could have exactly what
he
wanted. She
had no preconceived notions. She was willing and eager to be taught what would
please him.

Alys was equally content. She was not quite as ignorant as
she had implied. Although they had been sorely hurried to make all ready for
the wedding, Elizabeth had not failed in her duty as Alys’s stepmother. She had
made clear certain important facts about men and women and their
differences—and tactfully provided a small pot of sweet-smelling unguent.

“Not for the first time,” Elizabeth had warned. “That once you
must endure whatever pain there is. Raymond loves you and believes in you, but
if he slides in too soft and easy the first time, questions will be raised in
his mind. The pain will not be much, but however much it is, it will be well
worth bearing.”

Whatever initial doubts Alys had, and they were few, she was
now abundantly certain that Elizabeth had been right not only about the joy of
coupling, but about other significant facts.

“I do not know when it will come to you—early, I hope,”
Elizabeth had said, “because you love Raymond and desire him already. I knew it
not until I came to your father’s bed. And that is something you must remember.
For most women, for you, I am certain, there must be love in the heart before
the body will render up that pleasure. It is not so for men, although I believe
their pleasure may be greater where they love.”

Alys had nodded wisely at that. So much she knew from her father’s
behavior.

“Also,” Elizabeth had continued, prudently not probing the source
of Alys’s knowledge, “men are quicker in coming to their pleasure than women.
Those who love try to hold back, but it is not easy for them and sometimes
impossible. Thus, a woman should never try to prolong her joy. Take it as soon
as it comes and do what you can to bring it quickly.” She smiled. “You will
have no loss in that. If your husband is slow, you can be blessed twice or even
thrice. That is possible for women, but not for men.”

So, when Alys used the pot, she had liberally anointed
herself, knowing that Raymond would look politely away while she relieved
herself. The way thus eased, there had been no pain, only pleasure, and because
she knew the sensation she sought, it was easier to find. Alys sighed softly.
Raymond’s head turned toward her at once.

“Something ails you, beloved?” he asked.

“No,” Alys replied, seeking and taking his hand. “I am very
happy. I know it to be untrue, for life is life and never without pain, but I
feel that nothing will ever ail me again. All is so perfect, Raymond, even that
we should marry in winter.”

That was so curious a statement that Raymond lifted himself
on an elbow, the better to see Alys’s face in the light that came through the
bed curtain they had forgotten to pull closed. “Why is winter better than
another time to marry?” he asked.

Alys’s dimples appeared, and her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Because the nights are so long,” she replied.

Raymond allowed himself to fall back with a groan. “Holy
Mother,” he protested, “why do you always say you fear I will die in war? You
will kill me long before I have a chance to don arms if you are already eager
for another encounter.”

“That was not what I meant at all!” Alys exclaimed. “You have
already given that lesson. Quite the contrary, I only meant that we would have
time to sleep and restore ourselves. But…are you awake enough to talk, Raymond?
I know that it is wrong to trouble a man after coupling, that he then desires
to sleep—”

“And how do you know this?” Raymond felt a fool for the
sharpness of his tone the moment the words were out. Not only her obvious
virginity but Alys’s every action bespoke her innocence.

She blinked with surprise but did not take offense, merely
answering, “Elizabeth warned me of it. She says that even my father, who dotes
upon her, will snap if she troubles him at such a time.”

“It is good advice in general,” Raymond agreed, suddenly
realizing that women must be different. Seemingly they desired some speech after
love. It was interesting, perhaps worth remembering. “But just now,” he
continued, “I am awake. Speak if you wish.”

“I will not keep you waking long,” Alys said, “but it has
come into my mind that life for us will not often be as it was in my father’s
keep where we had around us only trusted servants. We will move from place to
place while you settle the lands firmly into your hand. The keeps will be new
to our governance and, mayhap, the castle folk will not love us. Moreover, the
guests we have will not often be old friends whose ways and loyalties we know.”

“This is certainly true,” Raymond remarked, smiling, “but it
is an odd thought to have in bed on your wedding night.”

“Not so.” Alys shook her head. “It is because of what you
said to me earlier about the king. Then I wondered to myself when it would be
safe for you to tell me what I must know—”

“
Must
know?” There was a slight edge to Raymond’s
voice. He had not taken offense when Alys seemed to be warning him of things he
knew, because he was amused and because she was so sweet and warm in his arms,
but this order to disclose what might be private between the king and himself
was going too far.

Briefly Alys was swept with impatience over the foolish
pride the sharpness of that remark betrayed, but her body still held the
languor of love and her mind the memory of Raymond’s gentleness when most men
would have been uncaring. Just now she was willing to turn away wrath with a
soft word.

“So that I will say nothing foolish if the queen or others
should ask me questions, my lord.”

“Yes,” Raymond said, realizing he had misunderstood, “you
are right.”

“And truly, it seemed to me there would not be a time we
could have safe from curious ears except abed.”

Raymond laughed. “Now I wonder if, instead of importuning
me, you wish to avoid me. There is nothing so damping to the heat of love as
talk of politics.”

Alys raised herself and kissed Raymond’s nose. “We could
leave it for after,” she suggested, “as now.”

“I am not sure that is better,” he said wryly. “Nonetheless,
what you say is good sense, and in truth, I do not like the situation in which
I have been placed. Briefly, it is this. For many years my mother’s kinsmen,
the de Solers, held both power and the king’s favor in Bordeaux. I do not know
what happened there during the war two years ago or last year while the king
lingered in Gascony, because my mother opposed my going there and my father did
not wish to become involved between England and France.”

“That, I think, was wise,” Alys said soothingly.

“At the time it seemed so to me, also, which was why I made
no argument over it. Then, soon after, as you know, I came to England and had
no thought of Gascony. Now, I hear, the king shifted his favor during the war.
The enemies of my kinsmen hold the reins in Bordeaux and control the council
that governs the city. Henry desires me to look whether the money he sent to
Bordeaux for strengthening the walls has been rightly used, but that, I am
sure, is only a ruse to be sure that I will approach Peter Calhau, the new
mayor. In fact, Henry said he will give me a letter to Calhau, recommending
me.”

“But what is the sense in approaching this Calhau, or in the
king’s letter, if Calhau knows you to be kinsmen to his enemies? Surely you
could have no influence on him.”

“I do not believe it is influence the king desires. I have a
feeling that violence is brewing in Bordeaux between the Coloms—that is the
party to which Calhau belongs and which the king now seems to favor—and the de
Solers. Perhaps Henry believes the Coloms are actually inciting the violence,
thinking while they have the power they can utterly destroy the de Solers, and
the king wishes that I play the spy. He would assume I would be glad to bear
tales of my kinsmen’s enemies. Perhaps he only wishes the Coloms to fear his
favor is shifting again so that they will be the more eager to please him.”

Alys wrinkled her nose with distaste.

Raymond nodded, agreeing with her unspoken opinion, and
continued. “Also joined to the latter is that my kinsman Rustengo may be given
hope by having me thrust into the council. If he hopes the king’s favor is
swinging back toward him through dissatisfaction with the Coloms, Rustengo may
be less inclined to make trouble. And this would be the time to make that
trouble, with the seneschal’s attention fixed on Navarre’s threat in the
south.”