Winter Song (25 page)

His prevarication, however, was a waste of time. Once
Raymond had assured her there was no new emergency, Alys remembered she had
guessed there was a disloyal servant and she barely heard the remainder of his
statement.

“It must have been one of the servants,” she said. “But I do
not know how anyone could get by Aelfric at night. Perhaps someone hid below
during the day.”

“Perhaps,” Raymond agreed, and shrugged. “We will discover
the truth tomorrow.”

“But they are all dead,” Alys pointed out, looking worried.

Raymond was surprised, then realized she was speaking of the
four men who had invaded the women’s quarters. “The other eight were trapped in
the hall below,” he said. Suddenly that struck him funny and he started to
laugh, squeezing Alys against him. “Down below are ten or twelve men-at-arms,
all well trained and armed with swords, and they managed to kill one man and
wound a few harmless servants. Up here, two women, unarmed, near killed four.
Alys, you are turning the world upside down.”

She smiled somewhat tremulously but did not answer, and
after chuckling over his joke a little longer, Raymond let her go.

“I must go down and see to the bestowal and guarding of
those we caught. I do not want them loose again.”

“No,” Alys agreed, “and let us hang them tomorrow. I do not
think I will be at peace now until they are dead.”

“We will see,” Raymond temporized.

He was more interested in discovering how the escape had
been contrived and who had contrived it than in the deaths of the seven men.
Although he would not say so to Alys, Raymond knew that the danger would not be
diminished by executing those men if there was a clever traitor inside the
walls. He murmured some further comforting words and told Alys to go back to
bed. He would be with her as soon as he could be.

Actually, it was nearly an hour before he returned. In the
main room, the women were still removing the last traces of bloody death from
the floor, but his and Alys’s chamber was completely in order, and his wife sat
beside the renewed fire with wine and cakes at hand, waiting to remove his
armor. Once again pleasure and uneasiness mingled in Raymond. It was a delight
not to need to soothe a screaming, fainting woman, to be himself tended in
smiling calm, unarmed and wrapped in a warmed robe, and offered refreshment.
Nonetheless, it did not seem
right
. After such an experience a
proper
woman should be prostrate, hysterical. Alys’s behavior was so unfeminine that
Raymond found himself strangely reluctant to go to bed with her. It was not
that he had forgotten that her strength was what had drawn him to her at first,
but then she was Marlowe’s daughter. It was different now that she was his
wife.

“I took each man aside,” he said hastily, trying to push his
uneasiness out of his mind, “and each told the same tale, that the bailiff
Ernaldus had set them free.”

“No!” Alys exclaimed. “It is impossible. Arnald has been by
the gate since you left, watching who came and went. He would not have admitted
Ernaldus—at least, not without asking me. Could the men have been deceived
about who it was in the dark?”

“More likely it is a story they concerted together to shield
their ally,” Raymond said, “but I will get the truth from them.”

Alys made no reply to that, staring into the fire while
Raymond finished his wine. He sipped it slowly at first, then realized that
delaying the inevitable was stupid, and tossed the remainder off in several
long swallows.

“And so to bed,” he said, with slightly more emphasis than
necessary. “It is very late.”

Alys rose with alacrity. In the time that Raymond had been
below, the numbness in her mind had worn off, and horror and fear had coursed
over her in waves. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she had
restrained herself from running down after her husband and clinging to him. The
relief she felt when he joined her had made it possible for her to smile at him
and perform her duties, but when he spoke of getting the truth from the
prisoners, her sense of horror had returned. That meant torture. Alys hated it,
but would not say a word against it. The prisoners deserved it, and it was
necessary that the truth be discovered.

In bed she flung herself on Raymond and gripped him
frantically. The gesture was unfortunate, bringing into Raymond’s well-educated
mind visions of harpy claws clutching at helpless prey. He stiffened slightly
and then said, “It was a long ride, Alys. I am tired.”

The remark seemed totally irrelevant to Alys. There was
nothing in what she desired that required any effort on Raymond’s part. The
idea of making love after the horrors she had seen and experienced had not
entered her mind. All Alys was aware of was that her husband was lying flat
with his arms at his sides, and she wanted those arms around her.

“Hold me. Hold me,” she insisted.

Reluctantly Raymond brought one arm around her waist, the
other around her shoulders. He was distressed, worried because he felt no
stirring of passion despite the fact that Alys lay nearly atop him. Embarrassed
by the fact that he found himself incapable of satisfying what he thought was
her desire, he said more sharply, “I am tired. Let me be.”

All Alys could think was that her weight was troubling her
husband. She slid herself off him and instead pressed herself to his side. When
his arms began to slip away, however, she protested, and he continued to
embrace her. Alys wished that Raymond would hold her more firmly. There was
some comfort to be found in the warmth of his body and the simple weight of his
arms, but not the full sense of security she needed.

Alys was not a self-effacing girl. She had always been too
important to her father and too well treated by him to feel a need to shrink
herself into insignificance. However, she was also well trained. For all his
love and indulgence, William had not really spoiled her. She knew that it was
wrong to demand attention from a tired, irritable man. She thought, too, that
Raymond was not looking forward to the questioning of the prisoners. It was
most reasonable he should wish to lose himself in sleep.

Still, the flaccid way his arms rested on her and the slight
tilt of his body away from hers sent the wrong message to her jumping nerves.
She could not rest. The strength of her grip on Raymond was not enough. She
needed an answering grip to assure her of protection. In the meantime, faint
sounds made their way to her from the main chamber. She knew that the noises
were made by the maidservants finishing their cleaning and settling back to
sleep, but the knowledge did nothing to soothe her. She kept remembering the
faint, strange sounds that had awakened her before the prisoners had broken in.
Alys began to shiver, and tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Raymond ground his teeth, thinking she was trembling with
passion and crying with frustration at his rejection. If he could have
satisfied her, he would have done so, but he was cold as a stone, and his
incapacity only further enraged him.

“What the devil ails you?” he snarled. “Can you not leave me
to sleep?”

“I am sorry, my lord,” Alys whispered, stifling sobs. “I did
not mean to disturb you. I cannot help it. I am so frightened.”

“Frightened! Of what?”

“I am sorry to be so silly,” she whimpered. “I know the
danger has passed, but…” Her voice broke in sobs. “But it was so horrible…those
men…and all the blood…and they chased me in the dark…and…”

“Alys, Alys.” Raymond turned and pulled her against him. “What
a fool I am! My poor little love. You were so quiet, and you smiled at me. I
had no idea you were afraid.”

He held her tight, rocking her in his arms, kissing the
tears from her face, murmuring comfort. In a few minutes the shivering and the
tears stopped, but her frantic grip had not relaxed and Raymond continued to
rock her while her sobs diminished to little catches of breath. Then her hands
loosened, and she nestled her head into his shoulder, sighing thanks and
another soft apology for troubling him.

But now Raymond was troubled in another way. The rhythmic
rocking had pressed Alys’s breasts to his chest in a regular, suggestive
pattern and one of her legs had slipped between his thighs, rubbing back and
forth against his genitals. He was hard and ready now, but Alys seemed unaware.
She lay against him limply, breathing shallowly and somewhat unevenly. Raymond
was reasonably sure she had fallen asleep. He was not surprised. Sudden sleep
was a not uncommon result of relief after fear and exertion. He hesitated,
wondering whether he should allow her to sleep, but his need was urgent.

With the arm supporting Alys’s neck, Raymond lifted her face
and kissed her lips. He passed his other hand down over her body, caressing her
breast, belly, hip, and thigh. She did not push his hand away or turn her head
from his lips, but she did not respond, either, other than by a faint murmur.

Raymond could not decide whether it was a protest at being
disturbed or a sleepy acquiescence. He thought of waking her completely by more
drastic methods, but then he wondered what it would be like to take a sleeping
woman. Would she remember at all? Would she think she had been dreaming?

Softly, Raymond removed his arm from under his wife’s neck
and laid her flat. She twitched and murmured, and Raymond paused. He did not
want her to wake now. Her limp helplessness was exciting to him. He spread her
legs carefully, just as carefully positioned himself, and began a slow
insertion. It was not as easy or as smooth as usual. Raymond had to stop, draw,
and press inward several times, and twice Alys tried to twist away, so that he
had to lie flat atop her to hold her still.

Once he was well seated, Raymond found movement somewhat
easier, but the whole thing was rapidly becoming a grave disappointment. The
sensation was not as pleasurable as when Alys was moist and ready. He missed
her passionate response, the extra thrill when the wriggle of her body under
his caused contact with an especially sensitive area, the touch of exploring
hands that tickled, stroked, scratched tenderly. Also the limp flaccidity of
her body had ceased to please him. There was something unpleasantly reminiscent
of the corpses he had touched, and even when that image was erased, Raymond
felt vaguely guilty, as if he had committed a sneaking act of dishonesty. That
notion was ridiculous because a man had a right to use his wife any way he
wished—to beat her or kill her, not to mention taking his pleasure of her any
way he desired, but the knowledge did not dispel the uneasy discomfort.

Now, however, Raymond was caught in a quandary. Friction had
generated too great a physical sensation to permit him to withdraw, but his
dissatisfaction with himself was preventing him from relaxing enough to come to
climax. His first response was to move furiously, and he thought he would
succeed, but he was soon exhausted. His movements slowed, stopped, and he lay
still for a few seconds, sobbing with frustration and anxiety. This had never
happened to him before.

Had Raymond not been so self-absorbed, he would have
wondered how any woman could sleep through the violent activity of the last few
minutes. Alys, of course, had not. When he began to plunge, her blue eyes
opened wide with astonishment. Even before that she had been vaguely aware of
Raymond’s handling. She was still to some degree in shock and very exhausted
herself, and could not respond either to welcome him or reject him. However, as
he entered her and began to move, she became increasingly aware and, at first,
both indignant and frightened.

Alys knew as well as Raymond that she was her husband’s
chattel. She knew a husband had the right to do anything he wanted to or with
his wife, but Alys had never thought Raymond would use
her
without her
consent and compliance. Very soon, however, amusement began to replace her
earlier, less pleasant emotions. It became more and more obvious that Raymond
was very dissatisfied with his experiment. His eyes were closed, as was
customary for him during coupling, but his face did not have its normal rapt
expression of ecstasy. His brow was creased with unhappiness, his lips tight
with effort.

Love and sympathy bade Alys help him. Shrewdness and
mischief instructed her to let him run his course. The increasing desperation
of his behavior assured her that he would not again try to take advantage of
her when she was helpless or unwilling. However, Alys was not having everything
her own way, either. Raymond’s violent activity was producing a powerful
effect, and it was increasingly difficult for her to remain passive. He had
very nearly tipped the scales in the balance between stubbornness and desire
that was raging in Alys when he gave up and lay still.

Raymond’s failure to come to climax liberated Alys. At first
she did nothing, biting her lips and trying to swallow her own frustrations,
thinking he had finally satisfied himself. But he did not withdraw, and Alys
realized his lessoning had been more complete than she had expected. Sighing
with pleasure, she turned her head and kissed her husband’s neck. Raymond
jerked. Thoroughly ashamed of himself and furious with himself for being
ashamed, he would have pulled away despite his inflamed condition, but Alys now
embraced him.

“Were you awake all the time?” he asked tightly.

“Not
all
the time,” Alys murmured, stroking his back
down along the spine, which she knew excited him, and moving her hips just a
tiny bit from side to side.

“Then why the devil did you lie like a dead woman?” Raymond
grated.

“I thought it was what you desired, my lord,” Alys replied,
sweetly meek.

Since her hands and lips were now adding considerably to the
heat Raymond had generated in himself, he accepted her statement at face value.
Mollified, he began to caress her, and to move again, slowly now, savoring the
lift of her body in answer to his, the fingers that petted and scratched ever
so gently at spots he had taught her were sensitive.