breath and expelled it. “Even so, at this time we cannot be formally married-the banns posted, the king notified, our union blessed by a heirophant. And the terrible thing is, I cannot tell you why, for to do so would bring disaster to all.”
In the darkness, Camille frowned. “I do not understand, my lord.”
“Please, Camille, when we are alone together, or within family, I am Alain, though I would rather you call me by that which you named me in the throes of our passion.”
“My love,” whispered Camille.
In the dark, Alain kissed her lips, a kiss she fervently returned. Then he captured her hand again and said, “Hear me, my sweet, I will not keep from you any secrets but this one, and only because I must, for this I do tell you, it would bring a calamity beyond reckoning were we to wed ere a terrible predicament is resolved. And I can but ask that you trust me till then, though given my silence I cannot say why you should. Yet this I do pledge: when the dilemma is banished, I will most ardently marry you, for then we can wed without bringing tragedy crashing down upon Faery, and you are my very heart.”
Alain fell silent, and Camille drew his hand to her lips and kissed each one of his fingers. “My lord, my love, my prince, my heart, my own, would that I knew this quandary you face, for then I could share the burden. Yet if it is not to be, then I do so accept, for wedded or no, I do love you most dearly.”
Alain drew her to him, flesh to flesh, and showered her with kisses, and he cupped each of her breasts and kissed curve and slope and aureole, and Camille could feel him quickening even as she responded, and passion flared anew, and they made love again, gentle at first, then afire.
Dawn was in the sky when Camille drowsily wakened. Faint light seeped ’round the edges of the curtained skylight above, the only window in the room. She turned and reached for Alain, yet he was not there, his side of the bed quite empty, the warmth of his presence nearly gone, the silken sheets growing chill in his absence. Camille sat upright and looked about, yet in the dimness, her prince was not to be seen. Where he had gone, she knew not- Yet perchance he will soon return. Yawning and stretching catlike, Camille then settled back, and moments later she was asleep again.
“Hruhmm!” A man cleared his throat.
“Oh, Alain-” Camille turned to face him, then bolted upright, barely catching the silken cover as it slid down. Clasping it to her bosom, “Lanval,” she said.
“My lady,” replied the steward, a sparkle in his eye. A white silken robe was draped over his arm.
“Oh, my, but where is the prince?”
“About his business, I deem,” said Lanval. “He sent you this.” Lanval placed the snow-white, satin robe upon the foot of the bed. “Do you wish to be served your breakfast here?”
“Well… — Oh, no! Blanche! She will have the hounds out after me, finding my own bed empty. My lor-um, Lanval, I believe I should hie there now.”
A faint smile crossed Lanval’s face, as he took up her gown from the floor to shake out the wrinkles and then draped it across his arm. He pointedly did not even look at the undergarments, petticoats and all. “Fear not, Lady Camille, for she knows of your whereabouts. In fact, will it set your mind to ease, I deem the entire staff knows.”
Camille reddened then said, “Nevertheless, ’tis to my quarters I will go.” She pointedly looked at the white robe at the foot of the bed. “If you will excuse me…”
Lanval bowed and said, “I will await you in the next room.”
When he had gone through the doorway, Camille cast back the light satin cover and snatched up the robe. Quickly, she slipped it on and belted it closed, then stepped into her shoes and gathered up her undergarments, rolling all into a petticoat bundle, then turned to the bed to “Oh, my!” she gasped.
“My lady? Is aught amiss?”
“Oh, Lanval, I have ruined a sheet. I thought my courses ended a three-day past, yet…”
A smear of blood stained the bedding.
Camille looked up to see Lanval now at her side. A faint smile crossed his face. “My lady, I ween ’tis not your courses.”
“If not, Lanval, then what?”
Lanval reddened. “I’d rather not say, my lady. Ask Blanche instead.”
“Lanval!” said Camille sharply.
Lanval sighed and mumbled a few words, and to Camille it sounded as if he said, “ ’S rngrn blth.”
“What? I didn’t hear.”
Lanval took a deep breath. “ ’Tis virgin’s blood,” he said, clearly this time.
“Virgin’s blood?”
“Um, yes, my lady.” Lanval, who in other matters seemed so sure, shifted about uneasily. “Harrumph! Did not your mere speak of such?”
“Nay, she did not.”
For a moment Lanval seemed nonplused, but then he said, “Ask Blanche. She will explain.” He took a deep breath, then plunged on. “Yet hear me, for this I do know: the prince will be glad of the sheet, though I think he will not call it ruin, but a testament to virtue instead.”
Camille shook her head. “What do you mean, Lanval?”
Again the steward reddened, and he turned up his hands. “Ask Blanche,” was his only reply.
Exasperated, Camille snatched her pristine white dress from his arm and sailed out from the chamber and down the hallways toward her own distant quarters.
“Is that what it means?”
“Yes, my lady,” replied Blanche, scrubbing Camille’s back.
Camille frowned. “Well, then, I don’t understand how that can be a sign of virtue. It could be a sign of fear, or a lack of temptation or opportunity-I certainly had little opportunity, living as I did with a monk and a votary, and then isolated on Papa’s farm. Too, it could be lack of desire or lack of someone to love.-Tell me: is it a sign of virtue when a man who has never made love before comes to the bed of a willing partner?”
“No, my lady. It is considered a lack of experience.”
“Virtue for one, but inexperience for the other? — Fie! But this does seem somehow inequitable.”
“Let me ask you this, my lady: would you rather have had Prince Alain as inexperienced as you?”
“Oh, no, Blanche. I can’t imagine how awkward and fumbling such an encounter would have been.”
“Then there you have it, my lady.-Now, duck your hair under.”
When Camille came sputtering up from the water, Blanche asked, “My lady, did they not speak of this at the monastery? Of vices and virtues? Of men and women and love? Or did not your pere or mere tell you of such?”
Camille shook her head. “At the monastery? No, Blanche. Instead they spoke of devotions to Mithras, and of the Devil and the good that men do. As for such talk at home, Papa always seemed to withdraw, and Maman simply glared at Papa and gritted her teeth and said, ‘You’ll find out soon enough, you will,’ and, beyond that, she said no more.”
As Blanche took up one of the rose-scented bars of soap, she said, “Well, my lady, now you know,” and she began lathering Camille’s hair.
“Inequitable or no, again I say, fie.”
“Fie, my lady?”
“Yes. Fie.” Camille’s shoulders slumped and she sighed.
“You see, Blanche, now I suppose I will never know whether or not I am virtuous, for I never faced temptation or opportunity or even knew love ere I met Prince Alain. Besides, it just seemed to happen.. and I am glad that it did.”
“So am I,” said Blanche. “So are we all.”
“All?”
“The staff, my lady. The household staff.”
“Oh, my. Does everyone know? Lanval said all might.”
Blanche paused in her scrubbing. “It is plain to every man Jaques and woman Jille that you two were meant for one another. And the prince has so little joy in his life, it is good to see him laugh.”
“Little joy? What mean you by that?”
“That I leave up to him to say,” replied Blanche, taking up the pitcher from the washstand. “Now hold still
