His ballad was about the hero Roland and his faithful sword, Joyosa, and how the brave man led the ancient troops to victory. According to the verse, Roland rode well ahead of the invaders, singing in a clear voice while he tossed his sword countless times into the air like a juggler. He was the first to die and offered no resistance. And now he was legend.
To Elizabeth, Roland was foolish indeed. She decided she was not of a romantic nature. Dead was dead, whether one became legend or not. She wondered if Geoffrey would agree with her observation.
'It is time,' Geoffrey announced when the song ended and the cheers to Roland's memory subsided. He took her elbow, nodded to her servant, and stood. 'Go. I will join you shortly.'
Elizabeth wanted to leave, all right, but her destination was the great doors leading to the outside, and not her bedroom. She almost smiled at her childish thoughts of escape. Almost.
She lifted the hem of her gown and followed Sara, keeping within the tight of the torch the servant carried, stopping only once on her way up the curving staircase. She found her husband in the middle of a group of men, watching her. He seemed ignorant of the soldiers' talk, staring intently at his bride. Elizabeth 's heart raced at the sensuous caress, the promise his dark eyes held.
'Mistress?' Sara's voice pulled at her, but Elizabeth couldn't break the force that held her gaze locked with her husband's.
'Yes,' she whispered, and then, 'I'm coming,' but it wasn't until the servant tugged at her elbow that she was able to turn back to the kind woman.
Sara kept up a steady chatter of village news until she had Elizabeth stripped of her garments and a new fire blazing in the hearth. Elizabeth 's hair remained twisted in the ribbon atop her head with several wisps falling and framing the sides of her face. She brushed a loose tendril aside and slipped into the robe the maid held open for her.
Having Sara there, helping her, did much to calm Elizabeth. The day had been quite overwhelming. Elizabeth felt both exhausted and keyed up.
'Your hands are trembling,' the old woman remarked. 'Is it from joy or fear?'
'Neither,' Elizabeth lied. 'I am just overly tired. 'Tis been a long day.'
'Mistress? Did your mother ever talk to you about the duties of a wife?' Sara asked with a bluntness that made Elizabeth 's cheeks grow warm.
'No,' she answered, avoiding Sara's gaze, 'but I have overheard stories my sisters exchanged. Besides, a woman doesn't have to do anything, does she?' Her voice held a note of panic, an echo of her inner turmoil.
The servant nodded. 'When a man becomes excited, he wishes his mate to respond,' she said very matter- of-factly. 'I worry that you will make him angry if you-'
'I do not care if he becomes angry or not,' Elizabeth replied, straightening her shoulders. 'I just hope that he will be quickly done.'
'There are ways you can make the deed quick,' the servant hinted. She folded back the covers on the bed and turned back to Elizabeth. 'But it will take courage… and boldness, my lady.'
Elizabeth found herself intrigued with the conversation. Sara wasn't acting the least bit embarrassed by their delicate topic but stood there with a tranquil expression on her face and spoke as if they were discussing new ways of stuffing quail. Sara, Elizabeth reminded herself, was at least three times her own age,. and maybe that was why her attitude was so blase.
'What must I do?' Elizabeth asked, determined to do anything to get the night over and done with.
'Entice him,' Sara announced, nodding her head at Elizabeth 's puzzled expression. 'He is eager to bed you,' she said. 'I saw the look in his eyes. Every man has only so much control, mistress. You must-'
The door to the bedroom suddenly opened and Geoffrey filled the entry. Elizabeth was standing in front of the fireplace, unaware that the light from the fire outlined the slender shape of her body through the thin robe. Her stomach knotted at the look in her husband's eyes as he slowly took his fill of her, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, which peeked out beneath the robe, but she matched his stare and his appraisal and prayed that her trembling would soon stop.
Sara left the room and she was alone with her husband. His gaze was intimidating, and when she could stand it no longer, she turned her back to him, pretending to warm her hands before the fire. Her mind raced for an ending to the discussion she was having with Sara. Entice him? Play the whore? Is that what the servant suggested? No, she decided, she could never do that. And why would enticing speed the deed?
Realizing that she probably looked like she was hiding, Elizabeth slowly turned back to her husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots and staring at her.
If only he would smile, Elizabeth thought, instead of looking so serious, so intent. She felt like he was trying to see inside her, know her thoughts and feelings, find her soul. And capture it. He looked capable of the task, and Elizabeth almost made the sign of the cross but caught herself in time.
Without saying a word, Geoffrey stood and began to remove the rest of his clothing, surprised to find that his hands were fumbling with the simple buckles. Had he not known better, he would have thought his hands shaking. He continued to look at his wife, willing her to show him some of the fear she kept so well hidden. He knew it was there, locked behind the rigid stance. Yet he was not displeased when she did not. She was his wife, his property. And he had chosen well.
Elizabeth watched him try again and again to undo the latchings. She wanted to suggest that he give some attention to his task instead of staring at her but did not think he would understand that she was teasing. Instead, she slowly walked over to him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and unlatched the three buckles.
Geoffrey watched her, inhaled the sweet clean scent of her.
'I should change your bandage,' Elizabeth said, taking a step back, 'and apply more salve.'
'It has been attended to,' Geoffrey answered, his voice husky. He was removing the rest of his clothing as he talked. Elizabeth tried to remind herself that she had seen him naked before, but that was when he was unconscious and raging with fever. His desire now had changed his physique considerably, and the transformation terrified her.
'Do not be afraid.' The softly spoken command confused Elizabeth. Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders. He did not draw her to him but seemed content to lazily study her eyes, her nose, and most especially, her mouth.
'I am
'I remember,' Geoffrey said, smiling inside at the way his wife's face colored with her admission. His hands began to gently massage her shoulders, stroking the knots of tension he knew he caused. 'And I have also seen you without your clothes,' he said.
His words startled Elizabeth and she was only vaguely aware that his hands had moved to her waist, to the knot that held her robe secure.
'When was this?' she asked, frowning.
'At the waterfall,' Geoffrey answered. 'You were bathing.'
'And you watched me?' she asked, both embarrassed and somewhat indignant.
'I had already decided to wed you, Elizabeth. It was my right.'
Elizabeth pushed his hands away and took another step back. She felt the bed behind her knees and knew she could go no farther.
'When did you decide,' she asked, her voice a whisper, 'that you would wed me?'
Geoffrey did not answer her but stood there and waited.
He wasn't making this moment less awkward, and the uncertainty of what was to come was agonizing. I must get the deed done, Elizabeth decided. Slowly she untied the belt to her robe. Before her courage could desert her, she removed the covering and let it drop to the floor. 'And do you still want me?' she asked, her voice husky and, she hoped, enticing.
From the surprised look on her husband's face, Elizabeth decided that maybe enticing was easy work. His stare was so hot that she felt the heat, like an embrace, wrapping around her. She felt like she was being caressed. 'Aye, wife, I want you,' Geoffrey answered, his voice hypnotic. 'Come to me, Elizabeth. Let me make you mine.'
It would not take much more to push his control over the edge, Elizabeth naively decided. Then, in her mind's
