then Enid gave a dismayed cry. “Ranulf, do not look! It is not fitting that you should see Rhiannon in her chemise!”
“Why ever not?” Eleri held out her hand so her stepmother could help her up. “Once they’re wed, he’ll see her in her skin, will he not?” She managed to get Enid out by the simple expedient of refusing to let go of the older woman’s arm. By then Rhiannon had been able to scramble to her feet and was brushing ineffectually at the feathers clinging to her chemise. It was not until she heard Ranulf say her name that she was sure he was still in the room.
Rhiannon was slightly embarrassed; Ranulf was the last person she’d have wanted to catch her playing the fool. But she had a far more pressing concern than her dignity, and the only way she knew to dispel it was to confront it head on. “Good morrow,” she said, although she thought such formality sounded silly, coming from a woman with feathers in her hair. “There is something I must ask you, Ranulf. Now that it is the morning after, have you had any second thoughts?”
It was an awkward question for Ranulf, and one that showed him just how well she knew him, for upon awakening that morning, his first thought had indeed been, What have I done? It was not so much that he regretted his marriage proposal as that in the cold light of day, he fully comprehended the magnitude of what he’d be undertaking. His earlier joke about an upended hourglass no longer seemed funny, for that was exactly what he’d done-turned his life upside down. Marriage was one of God’s Sacraments, a lifelong commitment, and marriage to Rhiannon would have its own unique pitfalls. Because her vulnerability was so much greater, so much greater, too, would be his sense of obligation to her. She deserved all that he had to give. But what if it was not enough? He still felt that what he’d done was right, but it could not have hurt if he’d taken a little more time to think it through. If God let him reach his biblical three score years and ten, would he still be jumping off cliffs without ever looking to see where he’d land?
His hesitation stirred up Rhiannon’s anxiety into outright alarm. “You must tell me if it is so,” she entreated. “If you have misgivings, better that we talk about them now…ere it is too late.”
“No, it is nothing like that, lass.” Stepping toward her, he reached for her hand. “I am not sure how best to explain this. Until I walked through that door and saw you thrashing about in the floor rushes, I admit I was feeling some unease, fear that I would let you down or cause you hurt. I was thinking of our marriage in sobering terms- responsibility and commitment and duty. What I should have remembered, though, is that I am still getting to know you…and you are constantly surprising me.”
Rhiannon tilted her head, listening as much to his intonation as to his words. He did not sound as if he were weighed down with regrets, but mayhap she was hearing only what she wanted to hear. “I am not following you.”
“There seem to be so many Rhiannons. First there was the nurse, striving to save my life. Then my cousin, who soon became my companion and confidante. Even my confessor,” he said, and for a moment, they both remembered that summer afternoon by the rushing waters of Rhaeadr Ewynnol. “But now…well, now I am seeing you in an altogether different light.”
He could not help smiling then, for he saw she still did not understand. But she did not realize how she looked-barefoot in her chemise, russet hair in beguiling dishevelment down her back, wispy white feathers kissing her cheek, her throat, the curve of her bosom. Half waif, he thought, and half wanton, a woman to cleave unto, as Scriptures said.
“What I mean,” he said, “is that I am of a sudden seeing you as a bedmate, Rhiannon.”
He could see a blush tinting the whiteness of her throat and cheeks, but there was nothing shy in the smile she gave him. “Well, then,” she said happily, “we’d best be married as soon as possible.”
They were, much to Enid’s chagrin. She argued in vain that such a hasty wedding would be sure to give rise to scandal, but her protests fell upon deaf ears. Rhodri did not believe that anyone could think ill of his Rhiannon. Eleri took the opposite tack, pointing out with cynical but accurate insight that the marriage was bound to cause gossip in any event. And Rhiannon and Ranulf cared only about getting married before the start of Lent, when marriages were prohibited. They settled upon Shrove Tuesday, beating the Lenten deadline by one day, placating the indignant Enid by agreeing to have a lavish celebration after Easter, then upsetting her anew by not bothering to post the banns.
They were wed in a simple ceremony at Llanrhychwyn, a small stone chapel in the hills above Trefriw. It was nothing like the great cathedrals where Ranulf had witnessed the weddings of his Norman-French kin, but it was newly whitewashed with lime, aglow with candles, fragrant with scented floor rushes, and in the secluded stillness, they could hear the rustling of yew trees in the wind, the clarion cry of a soaring hawk, even the distant howling of a Welsh wolf.
Afterward, they had a quiet wedding dinner back at Rhodri’s manor, attended only by the members of his household, a meal of roast goose and baked trout and mead and harp music. Instead of the usual raucous bedding-down revelries, Rhiannon’s sister and stepmother then accompanied her up to the wedding chamber, where they made her ready for Ranulf, while he enjoyed a final flagon with the man who was now both his uncle and father-in-law.
As a king’s son, Ranulf had witnessed more than his share of weddings, and he knew from experience how bawdy and boisterous the bedding-down revelries could get, the humor both explicit and uninhibited, a carnal and often crude celebration of life and lust and the anticipated pleasures of the marriage bed. But Ranulf felt sure that their bedding-down revelries would have been dreadfully different. They would have been subdued and decorous and seemly enough to have satisfied the most pious of priests, for the wedding guests would not have known how to deal with a blind bride. They’d have been painfully polite, offering Rhiannon their pity instead of their lewd mockery, and Ranulf was very glad she’d been spared that. She already knew full well that others viewed her as an oddity. Tonight he hoped to show her that she was a desirable woman to the only man who mattered, the one she’d married.
That proved to be very easy to do, for once they were lying together in their marriage bed, she soon discovered incontrovertible proof of his passion, and he discovered in his turn that her other senses were functioning perfectly. She was eager to touch what she could not see, eager to please him, and afterward, he felt confident that her deflowering had been as satisfying for her as it had been for him. “I did not hurt you too much, did I?” he asked drowsily, surprised to realize how much that mattered to him.
She shook her head, tickling his chest with a long strand of her hair, and then trailing it still lower, across his belly. “Ranulf…do we have to wait till morning ere we can do it again?”
“Shameless wanton,” he murmured, and there was such tenderness in his voice that she found herself blinking back tears.
“Ranulf…I want you to know that I understand divided loyalties. You chose me and Wales, but that does not mean you repudiated your past life. England will always exert a powerful pull upon you, and whenever you feel the need, you must follow it. You may return to England as often as you wish and I’ll not object…just as long as you keep coming back.”
“I do have other loyalties,” he admitted. “But from now on, my first loyalty will be to you. That I promise you, Rhiannon.”
She wondered if that was an oblique reference to the woman he’d loved so deeply and disastrously. But she dared not ask, dared not summon up Annora’s restless spirit to haunt their marriage bed. Instead, she settled back in his arms, shifting so she could hear his heart beating against her cheek until she fell asleep.
46
Rouen, Normandy
August 1151
Maude could have lodged in Rouen’s great castle, as Geoffrey did whenever he was in the city. Or she could have moved into the royal residence adjacent to the priory of Notre-Dame-du-Pre. Instead she chose to live among the monks, dwelling in the guest quarters of the priory, an austere and surprisingly stark milieu for a woman who’d once reigned over an imperial court.
On the first Sunday in August, Ranulf and his niece the Countess of Chester arrived at the priory. They were
