Authors: Anna Markland
Sleepily, Peri gathered the linens more tightly around her body. She was cold. She was not used to sleeping naked.
Her eyes flew open, her heart beating too fast. She had slept naked—with a man. She smiled. The man was her husband. She snuggled into the mattress, wondering why she felt cold when his body gave off such heat.
Her skin warmed and tingled at the memory of her wedding night—the things Gallien had done to her, the places he had touched, the pleasure he had wrought. She had touched him too, and he had enjoyed her caresses, her kisses. Perhaps they could learn to love each other.
She wished Fermentine lived nearby so she might rush to tell her sister that she had been right about the joining, but completely wrong about the pleasure. She giggled. Poor Fermentine!
Still feeling chilled, she wriggled backwards, hoping her husband would not deem her brazen if she pressed her back to his.
She sat up abruptly when she realized she was alone in the bed. The cock had not yet crowed. Where was he?
She peered into the darkness. Perhaps he had gone to rekindle the long dead fire, but she heard no movement or sounds of breathing.
As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she noted how masculine the chamber was. She had not paid much attention the previous night, her mind on other things. This was the refuge where he came with memories of his first wife. Yet he had evidently removed all trace of her.
She shivered as timbers creaked in the cold wind that howled outside. Did the woman’s ghost haunt the place? Had Gallien fled the intense memories the room held? Had she died in the very bed in which Peri now lay?
She scrambled to her feet, dragged one of the linens from the bed, and wrapped it around her, tucking it securely around her breasts. As the first streaks of pale winter sunlight crept into the chamber, she took a few tentative steps, feeling like a Roman empress in her toga.
Her heart lurched at the sight of dried blood on the bed. She recalled the sharp stab of pain when Gallien’s male part had entered her body. She stared at the stain, mortified that her body had been too small for his magnificent shaft. She had bled on him. How embarrassing. Her menses were not supposed to come for another sennight. It occurred to her suddenly that her woman’s place felt sticky too.
Perhaps he had not noticed. It must have been dark when he rose. She lunged at the bed, grabbing the offending sheet, determined to drag it off and hide it.
Kneeling in the middle of the bed, she paused, breathless and flustered. Where to hide the sheet? And what to replace it with? The maidservants would surely notice missing linens. They would believe her a thief. Frantic, she struggled to hold up the linen wrapped around her as it threatened to slide from her body.
She whirled at the sound of the door opening, gaping as her husband strode into the chamber, fully dressed. He seemed taken aback for only a moment before he reached for the linens. “Exactly what I came for,” he declared.
He stripped her of the toga, dragged the other sheet from beneath her, and left without a word of farewell.
A shiver shuddered through her. Not only had he left her naked in a chilly chamber, he had uttered not one word of greeting or endearment. He was once again the cold, cruel man of their first meeting.
~~~
As far as Gallien was concerned, the tradition of hoisting a virgin bride’s bloodied sheets up the flagpole was a barbaric one, but he bowed to his brother’s youthful disbelief that Gallien did not intend to do such a thing.
Étienne rushed off with great glee, clutching the sheets. Gallien slumped into the chair by the hearth in the Great Hall. In truth he had to admit a certain sense of pride that he had deflowered a virgin. His wife had come to his bed untouched. Geoffrey had not bedded her. He let out a slow breath as relief again washed over him. What would he have done had she proven as false as Felicité? Killed her perhaps with the dagger he had secreted in his chamber?
He closed his eyes, anxious to erase the vision of their marriage bed awash in her blood as he plunged his blade into her heart. He remembered the confusion in her eyes as he stripped the sheets from the room. His eyes flew open.
Dieu
! He had left Peri without linens. She must be freezing.
He summoned a maidservant. “Go at once to my chamber with fresh linens.”
She looked at him curiously then winked slyly. “Of course,
milord
.”
As he watched her hasten away, he thought about his wedding night. He should hurry to his wife’s side, but he could not. He had lain awake beside her for hours as she slept peacefully, his body on fire for her, wanting to stroke the curve of her hip, to take her again and again.
Peri had been a virgin, but her innocent passion had brought him more ecstatic pleasure than he had ever known with a woman. It was a bitter truth. If he had married Peri first, he would not be the cold, cautious man he was now.
Felicité had damaged him beyond repair. He refused to risk his heart again, and Peri was much too attractive. Besides, she loved another. The remnants of his battered heart would be dragged in the humiliating muck of infidelity yet again. This time he risked being cuckolded by no less a personage than the betrothed of his future Queen. It strengthened his resolve to steel himself to his wife’s charms and to campaign harder against Maud’s succession to the throne of England.
Peri had dreaded living with Normans. Indeed, when she had first arrived two months before, the castle folk had politely ignored her. Fortunately, the Earl and Countess had been her allies from the beginning. It was her mother-by-marriage who soothed away her mortification by explaining with a smile why bloodied sheets flew from the castle’s flagpole. It was from the Countess that she began to learn how to run a large household.
She learned the healing properties of herbs and spent much of her time in the Countess’s Still Room. She became adept at making her own blend of potpourri, bearing in mind her husband’s fascination with the original recipe filched from Westminster. She relied heavily on the hips and dried petals of roses, rosemary, and artemisia, with a hint of cloves. She wondered if it was the reputed aphrodisiac in the latter that attracted him.
She did not wield her new position as Countess-in-waiting with a heavy hand, preferring to learn by listening to the opinions and advice of servants and other folk of the castle, who knew more than she about the place she would rule.
Gradually, so slowly that she barely noticed it, the servants sought her advice, her direction, her opinions. It came to her of a sudden one day that they craved her approval. They wanted to please her.
Étienne had become her most ardent admirer, lauding her decisions and changes she suggested. It was akin to having a faithful puppy dog.
She came to love the Earl and Countess as her parents, and they in turn treated her as a daughter. Fleurie and Isabelle were the loving sisters Fermentine had never been.
Her husband was a skilled lover in their bedchamber, bringing her to heights of pleasure she had never dreamed of. He called her Peri. Their bodies sang together. His appetite for their lovemaking was seemingly boundless.
Outside the bedchamber he was as cold as he had ever been. She dared not bring up his strange behavior for fear of breaking whatever spell existed when they were in bed together. It was a mystery. In the bedchamber he had shared with his dead wife he was a considerate, loving man.
She longed for a smile, a word of praise, some recognition of her growing affection for him. The more remote he became, the harder she tried—to no avail.
She made up her mind that he was not worth the effort, but then he had only to enter a chamber and she was lost to the wanton sensations that thrummed through her body. She chided herself that she was falling in love with him—arrogant bastard that he was. Geoffrey would never have treated her so cruelly.
~~~
As Yuletide approached, it warmed Gallien’s heart to see his wife throw herself wholeheartedly into the preparations. No task seemed too insignificant for her attention. One day he found her in the Great Hall, assisting with the hanging of holly boughs, her hair threatening to spill out of the turban affair she had bound around it. She looked like an exotic princess. His shaft leapt to attention at the sight of her flushed face, alive with excitement. “There is no need to exert yourself,” he chided. “The servants take care of that.”
She looked down at him from her perch atop a trestle table. “I know, but at home I helped
Maman
with the decorations. She made sure Yuletide was special.”
It came to him then how lonely she must be, far from home, separated from those she loved. This would be her first Yuletide away from her parents, and he had done nothing since their marriage to make her feel welcome in the castle he loved.
His constant craving for her body and the fulfilment he enjoyed in their lovemaking lay at sharp odds with his determination not to trust her, not to fall in love with her. He had sworn never to be vulnerable to a woman again, but how much longer could he deny he was falling in love? He could not contemplate life without his Peri. Dare he hope she found something in him to love? He had not given her much to find lovable.
His father strode into the Hall, brandishing a parchment, his face glum. “We are invited, nay summoned, to Westminster for Twelfth Night.”
Gallien’s mother followed in her husband’s wake. He had rarely seen her so flustered. “This means we will have to cut short our own Yuletide celebrations and leave not long after the first of the year. Why has Henry decided upon this now? He has never insisted on Twelfth Night before?”
Baudoin opened his mouth to reply, but then seemed to notice Peri for the first time. “Daughter, why are you standing on a table? We have servants to do the menial tasks of decorating.”
Gallien hastened to his wife’s side, reaching up to grasp her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her down and their eyes met. Would that he could whisk her away to their chamber and rain kisses on those green eyes. “Peri likes to help with the decorations. It reminds her of home.”
His wife sucked in her breath.
His mother’s eyes widened.
Gallien felt sheepish. Was it so unusual for him to utter kind words about his wife that the whole world took note of it?
His father coughed, the corners of his mouth edging up. “
Peri,
is it?”
Gallien felt stupidly jealous. Peri was the nickname he used for his wife. He did not want to share it with anyone else.
“Peri is Gallien’s endearment for me.”
His wife’s smile told him the name was as precious to her as it was to him.
His mother came to his rescue. “Then the rest of us will continue to call you Peridotte. Now, we must make haste. We not only have preparations to make for Yuletide but also for a long journey and a sojourn at Henry’s Court.”
Carys, Countess of Ellesmere, was heartily relieved when the tide finally receded, allowing them to ford the Thames to the Eyot of Thorns. The ornate gates of Westminster Palace came into view. With New Year’s celebrations scarcely over, the family had been obliged to travel on frost rutted roads at King Henry’s bidding, ostensibly to celebrate Twelfth Night at court.
She turned to her daughter-by-marriage who had traveled with her and Fleurie and Isabelle in the carriage from Ellesmere. “I used to make such journeys without a second thought,” she complained, “but these old bones are weary after four days on the road. I often complain that the Conqueror granted my father-by-marriage an earldom far from Westminster, but if he hadn’t, Baudoin and I would never have met.”
Peri smiled weakly. “It has naught to do with old bones. I too am weary and give thanks to the saints I had you as travelling companions.”
Carys returned the smile, but worried Peri was relieved she had not been obliged to travel alone with Gallien.
The relationship between her son and his wife perplexed her. She had hoped Peri’s eager personality and loving ways would have softened Gallien’s hardened heart by now, but he still seemed determined to treat her with cool detachment. It was embarrassing that he had given his wife no Yule gift.
However, she had noted the passion that burned in her son’s hooded eyes when he watched his wife. She recognized that look, having seen it often in her husband’s eyes. Gallien was in love with Peri. Why did he refuse to admit it? Had she not proven she was trustworthy?
Carys had known from their first meeting that the girl was true to her name. Many healers wore a ring of peridot, Carys included. The gemstone was a symbol of purity and morality. Deep in her heart she was certain Peri would never betray Gallien. She suspected Gallien knew it, but was afraid to risk his heart again. It was an ancient saying among her Celtic people that a person with too many earthly problems could never appreciate the beauty of a peridot.
Despite Gallien’s obvious irritation, everyone quickly fell into the habit of calling her Peri.
“I fear we will see little of our husbands while we are at Court. King Henry wants to talk strategy for his campaign against the French king.”
Peri frowned. “Henry will attack France?”
Carys sighed. “Louis the Fat of France has set Clito as
Comte
in Flandres, and supports Clito’s claim to the Duchy of Normandie. Henry has to act. It is not likely he will attack Louis directly, but he’s already financing the armed opposition of the nobles and towns in Flandres. This is why he has allied England with Anjou—to strengthen his hand against Louis.”
Peri hesitated. “This means Geoffrey of Anjou will be at Westminster for the discussions?”
“And his father too, I shouldn’t wonder. You may meet friends from Anjou in his entourage.”
Peri put a hand on her arm. “Forgive me,
maman
, but how do you know these things?”
Carys chuckled. “My husband confides in me. He values my opinions.”
Peri averted her gaze, studying the gates of the Palace as sentries waved them on. “Gallien said nothing to me. He does not seek my opinion.”
Carys reached out to touch her shoulder. “He will. Someday he will.”
A tear rolled down Peri’s cheek. “He cares nothing for me. He is still in love with his first wife.”
Taken aback, Carys glanced over to where her menfolk were dismounting. What had Gallien said to make his wife believe this nonsense? But she held her tongue. It was not for her to interfere in her son’s marriage. She prayed he would one day come to value the precious jewel he had in Peri.
~~~
Peri was pleased to discover Francine Beaujoie had advanced from the lowly position of official stain remover. The two women exchanged hugs. Francine told her of her new duties as Custodian of The Royal Jewellery. They tittered as her friend described Maud trying to ram dainty rings on her pudgy fingers. “Of course, I am not allowed to handle the most precious jewels, only the everyday ones.”
“I suppose you can no longer get your hands on royal potpourri?”
Francine winked. “Never fear. I still have my sources.”
Peri’s heart lifted. The potpourri seemed to be the one thing that enchanted Gallien. “My husband loves it,” she whispered, feeling her face redden.
Francine dug her elbow into Peri’s ribs. “What man can resist? Mayhap Maud will snare Geoffrey with it.”
She guffawed with laughter.
Wishing to change the subject, Peri asked, “And how fare Tandine and the hateful Philippa?”
Francine shrugged, wiping away a tear. She placed her thumb and forefinger on the end of her nose, her little finger thrust into the air. “Lady Philippa de Grosmont is now too important a personage for me to even speak to. She is
Milady
Ermintrude’s personal secretary—which means
spy
.”
Peri turned down the corners of her mouth, pretending to be suitably impressed by Francine’s nasally pronouncement.
The smile left Francine’s face. “Tandine is to be wed, though she is not happy with her bridegroom. He is a widower, with six children.”
Peri gasped. “Six?”
“
Oui
, and only one hand. Imagine.”
Both women stared at each other, then collapsed onto the bed, laughing hysterically.
~~~
As the Countess had predicted, once Twelfth Night festivities were over, the Montbryce men spent most of their time closeted with King Henry and the other barons and earls, planning strategy for continuing the campaign in Flandres.
Peri sought out Tandine, recently returned from spending her last Yuletide with her parents. It was evident from the red rims around her eyes she was not happy.
They embraced. Peri cupped her friend’s face in her hands. “You look bereft. Does your betrothal not bring you joy?”
Tandine closed her eyes. Tears followed.
“Devlin de Villiers terrifies me.”
Peri hugged her again. “Why? Because he has only one hand?”
Tandine pulled away, searching in her pocket for a kerchief. She blew her nose. “
Non
. I could accept that, but he is a man full of anger.”
Peri’s heart lurched. “I was afraid of Gallien when I first met him. He too seemed angry, but he is a good man.”
Tandine eyed her curiously. “You are not convincing.”
Peri shrugged, wishing she had not embarked on this conversation. “Gallien lost his wife, whom he loved dearly. I understand your betrothed is also a widower?”
Tears welled again in Tandine’s eyes. “Six children,” she rasped. “How am I to cope with six children?”
Peri did not voice her suspicion that de Villiers sought a nursemaid, not a wife. “How did Lady De Villiers die?”
Tandine stared at the wall behind Peri’s head. “In childbirth.” She hesitated, then whispered, “They say he was cruel to her.”
Peri’s heart went out to her friend. She too had known the despair of being betrothed to a monster. Women had no control over their destinies. Men ruled the world.
However, she no longer thought her husband a fiend. He had made her a woman. She was intimate with every inch of his glorious body, where he liked to be touched, and how. If only their congress out of bed was the same.
She cast about for something to say. “What do your parents think of the match?”
Tandine perched on the edge of the tiny bed. “They are elderly and anxious to be rid of me. I am the youngest of ten children. They are worn out, and have precious little to offer in the way of a dowry. They jumped at Devlin’s offer.”
Peri sat beside her and took her friend’s hand. “All will be well, Tandine. His children will love you, and you will grow to love them.”
She did not envy her friend, but their conversation caused her thoughts to drift to her failure to get with child. Her husband had explained that children grew from a man’s seed. Perhaps if she and Gallien had a child it would bring them closer.
~~~
Gallien drummed his fingers on his thighs, ignoring his father’s irritated glare. Henry was working up to demanding that English noblemen with ties in Normandie assist with the struggle in Flandres. The king was incensed that Louis had granted Clito estates in the Vexin, from where he might more easily attack Normandie’s cathedral city of Rouen by sailing down the Seine.
Gallien was a warrior, proud of the long history of military prowess that the Montbryce family was well known for. He had no love for Louis the Fat, nor the French, though as Duke of Normandie, Henry was Louis’ vassal. Thus in turn was Robert,
Comte
de Montbryce, Gallien’s uncle and head of the clan, also a vassal of Louis.
Gallien hoped that when the day of his death came, it would be on a battlefield. But going to Flandres now would mean leaving Peri. She had shown no sign of being with child, but if she had conceived, he might be absent for his child’s birth. He would miss Peri. Her lithe body and generous lovemaking had him in her thrall. But still the belief that she loved Geoffrey of Anjou made him wary. Would she give her body to Geoffrey if the opportunity arose? Many women at court, most of them married, were proud to boast of a liaison with a king. Henry’s mistresses were proof enough of that. Their cuckolded husbands had to grin and bear it.