Siren Song Page 13

  “Yes, I go to Wales.” His voice was thick.

  “When?”

  “A few weeks. I must train some more men. I cannot leave Alys defenseless.”

  They were staring at each other, only partly aware of what was being said. Elizabeth’s hands slid down from William’s arms and lay above his hands, not clutching but stroking them gently. He did not move, but his breathing grew uneven and finally he closed his eyes altogether. The long lashes had an unusually bright sheen. Tears? It was more than Elizabeth could bear. She drew his head down and their mouths came together.

  Almost at once, William pulled free. “I cannot bear it,” he said. “I cannot give you up and I cannot have you. I am a man, not a mouthing ape who sighs for a glance from his lady’s eyes or a glove from her hand. I am a man! I want you! I wish I were dead!”

  “William!” Elizabeth cried as he stood up.

  He turned away. “Thank God I am going to Wales. Thank God for it. Perhaps—”

  “William!”

  He was only going to say that perhaps he would be able to sleep a night through when he was a hundred miles from her, but Elizabeth had put together the wish for death with the Welsh enterprise. William might try to get himself killed in battle. It was a notion that would never have entered his mind, not because his cry of misery was false but because he would betray his men and Richard and his duty to his daughter if he deliberately permitted himself to be killed. It would never occur to William to ease his own pain at the cost of his duty. But Elizabeth, who was not thinking clearly at the moment, did not realize that.

  The sense of doom, of looming disaster, which had gripped her when Alys first spoke of the Welsh war, returned. She felt driven to act, to do something to avert the disaster. There was no sense in begging William not to go. Both his duty and the fervor with which he had spoken of leaving proved to Elizabeth that any plea in that direction would be useless. All she could think was that she had to give him a reason, provide him with a hope that would bring him back. She followed the few steps he had moved away and gripped his arm.

  “William, I love you.”

  “Do you think that makes it easier for me to bear?” he muttered.

  He did not pull away, but his arm was rigid under her fingers and his face was averted. Elizabeth’s eyes took in the fair stubble of beard, the down turned corner of his sensitive mouth, the broad cheekbone, the bleached, lighter tip on the curling lashes.

  “Close the door, William,” she said softly.

  For a moment he stood still. Then he turned his head to look fully at her, his eyes wide open.

  “Elizabeth?”

  She did not answer, only let go of his arm and put her hand up to the fastening of her wimple. It was crazy, she thought, to endanger William’s life, to torture him and herself for the sake of a man who would take no hurt except in his pride. No, not even that, for he would never know. No harm would be done to any living creature in the entire world, and to her and William it would be more precious than the hope of salvation, and if it was a sin in God’s eyes, He who was Goodness itself and She who was Mercy, would pity and forgive.

  Even after he spoke his question in her name, William did not move until Elizabeth’s hair fell free. Then, with an intake of breath that was near a sob, he strode through the outer chamber and closed the door. After a brief hesitation, he dropped the bar across.

  Returning, William was struck immobile again as he entered the bedchamber. Elizabeth had made excellent progress. Not only her wimple was gone but her cotte and tunic also. The lines of her slender body showed very plainly under the thin shift. Committed now, Elizabeth was not such a fool as to blemish her brief joy with guilt or fear. She laughed softly, well aware from the avid eyes that ate her what had stopped William in his tracks.

  “Come now,” she teased, “you knew I was a skinny wench. Surely I have not become so ugly as to turn you to stone like a Medusa.”

  Gold glittered in William’s eyes. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides and pressed her against him. “Perhaps not all,” he chuckled, “but you have certainly turned one part of me hard as stone.” Then he buried his face in her hair. “I do not know what you are in other eyes, Elizabeth, but to me you are the most beautiful being in the world. You are perfect. To look at you is heaven and hell together, for I joy and I burn.”

  Elizabeth found she could not draw breath properly. Even William had never said such things to her before. They had been too young, too sure of a long life together to need such words. On the other hand, she was not totally unacquainted with sexual arousal. She and William had done considerable experimenting before they had been parted. All her pleasure in sex had stopped at that point, however. Mauger thought her ugly and made no bones about it. His perfunctory attempts to ready her for coupling had produced nothing but distaste, and the act itself became a thing to be endured with stoicism, like a beating.

  In one thing Elizabeth was fortunate. She never transferred her revulsion for coupling with Mauger toward coupling in general. Thus, William’s praise, more than that, the proof of his violent arousal, worked on her like an aphrodisiac. “Oh, William,” she sighed, kissing his neck and ear.

  He said something she could not hear, and his hands began to roam caressingly over her body. Soon he plucked impatiently at the shift, which prevented him from touching her skin directly. Elizabeth was willing, even eager, to take it off, but once she did she gasped in William’s renewed embrace. The harsh wool of his common outerwear rasped on the tender skin of her breasts and belly like a hair shirt.

  That brought them enough to themselves to permit William to undress. Elizabeth watched, growing more and more excited as his strong body was bared. She did not think how ridiculous the sensation was, how many naked male bodies she had seen without the smallest reaction. She did not think at all, only fed his lust and her own by touching and kissing. When his shoes and chausses were off, he grabbed her close again, and she thrust her hips forward instinctively. William gasped and pulled away, lifted her to carry her to the bed, but midway there fell to kissing her breasts and sucking her nipples.

  Elizabeth had to bite her lips to keep from screaming with excitement. She moaned and twitched in his arms, bit at his neck, tried to reach his genitals but could not. She gasped his name and the word “please,” feeling she would die if she did not soon have some relief from the intolerable pressure of pleasure that was building in her.

  William’s state was no better than Elizabeth’s. His wife had been a passive partner, never refusing but never showing any sign of delight, although after he had got over his initial rage he had dutifully tried to give her pleasure. Beyond Mary’s dull acquiescence, William had known only the practiced caresses of whores. Thus, to him, Elizabeth’s response was new and so exciting that he was nearly beside himself. He knew she was ready, he wanted to put her on the bed and take her, but he could not stop what he was doing. Every time he sucked, Elizabeth squirmed and moaned. Every time she squirmed, her back just barely touched the tip of his upstanding shaft and a hot throb of pleasure racked his whole body.

  Finally William began to shake so much he thought he would drop her, and that drove him forward to deposit his burden on the bed and fling himself atop her. She cried out when he entered, and he stopped his thrust, fearing he had hurt her, but she heaved against him and he lodged himself, sighing with satisfaction.

  “Wait!” Elizabeth cried, straining against him, thinking the sigh was the end for him. “Wait for me. Wait.”

  “Hush,” he soothed, kissing her. “I am not a green boy. There is no hurry. Trust me.”

  She did, and he was as good as his word, although she put little strain on him in the keeping of his promise. In a very few minutes, he was muffling her cries and his own groans by locking their mouths together. Finished, he could not bear to withdraw, knowing there might never be another time. He braced himself on his elbows, trying to relieve Elizabeth of most of his weight and still
cover her body to give her warmth.

  Her hair was in the wildest disorder, but her eyes were like still water, luminous and full of peace. “I never knew,” she sighed. “I never knew.”

  William was astounded. He lifted his head higher. “You mean in all these years…”

  “Not so many years. He never came to me after he got John upon me, and you may be sure I did not invite him. He thinks I am ugly—”

  “Ugly? What a fool!”

  Elizabeth smiled at the passion in William’s voice. “Each to his own taste,” she said. “I assure you I did not mind what he thought of me, so long as he left me in peace.”

  “Thank God for that,” William muttered.

  “You need not fear, beloved. There is only you. I could never bear his touch, never!”

  It did not occur to Elizabeth to doubt her own words. As far as she knew, she was telling the truth. However, if she had been as precious, as beautiful, in Mauger’s eyes as she was in William’s, it was not likely she would long have clung to the memory of her childhood sweetheart, except as a pleasant memory. She could read what William thought of her in his face, and she grew radiant, seeing herself with his eyes. There was a new value to her slender limbs, her smooth brown skin, her small breasts, as high and firm as those of a girl just entering puberty.

  William did not doubt what she said either. Her response to him was evidence enough, and the new knowledge that he had been the first, the only man, to bring Elizabeth to climax was another iron fetter to bind him to her. There was also the bitter knowledge that he must lose her as soon as they parted. The joy and pain drove William into renewing his caresses.

  “No, William. We have no time.”

  “We have nothing,” he said harshly.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Was it nothing to you? It was everything to me. Let me up, William.”

  “In God’s name, do not be angry, Elizabeth. You know I did not mean that, only that I cannot bear to part with you, that it is not enough for me to lie with you and then go our separate ways.”

  “Let me up,” she repeated, but her voice was softer and she stroked his cheek. “If I do not get up, I will soil the bed. I do not need to give your servants and your daughter evidence that I am a whore.”

  “Never say that!”

  William got off her hastily and she rose also, appalled at the pain in his eyes. “William—”

  “Is that what you feel?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Is that what I have done to you?”

  “No!” She embraced him, kissed him. “William, look at me. Do I look ashamed? You have given me a precious jewel that I can hold in my heart, a joy that will light the dark hours of my life. Forgive me, love. It is not what I feel but what others will say.”

  “Why should you care what others say?” he muttered. “Do you think I cannot protect you?”

  Elizabeth shuddered. He could have protected her from twenty years as Mauger’s wife, have saved them all the agony, if only he had stood firm against his father’s will. But she did not say it. It was twenty years too late, and bitter words would only destroy the joy they had without mending anything. She kissed William gently again and began to dress in the clothes she had so hastily discarded.

  He watched her sullenly for a while, but her grace of movement was such a joy that the anger slipped away. It was her only fault that she cared too much what others would say. Elizabeth did not lack physical courage, and what others would say was doubtless one of the weapons used to get her married once she was at Ilmer. “Think what others will say if you are sent home unwed,” the women must have told her.

  Elizabeth was as swift as she was graceful and was buttoning the sleeves of her cotte when William reached for his own clothing.

  He put on the gown but, resentfully, did not move. “If you care as little for Mauger as you say, why are you so fearful? Let him discover us. He can do you no harm in my house, except to repudiate you. And do not sing me any sad songs about your sons. I will tell you plain that they do not love their father, and they do love you, and me, a little. They would soon—”

  “They would not soon learn to take pleasure in having their mother called a whore. William, stop! In any case, how can you protect me when you are in Wales?”

  “Wal—”

  The broken word, the startled look, told Elizabeth he had forgotten the coming war, forgotten everything in his concentration on her. She felt a thrill of satisfaction that was damped by a wave of fear. William put his arm around her and drew her into the antechamber where he seated her by the fire. After that, he unbarred the door, opened it silently and carefully a little way. If no one had tried it previously, it might seem that he had never shut it completely, only drew it partly closed so that the chill would not come in from the hall. His face was grim when he came back to stand in front of Elizabeth.

  “I am a fool,” he said bitterly. “I forgot! I completely forgot about this stupid business in Wales. Oh God! Elizabeth, believe me, I just did not think… Now what are we to do?”

  “Nothing. You may have forgotten, but I did not. I…I was frightened. I did not wish to let you go without having something. What I did, I did in full knowledge of what might come of it. You are not responsible for me, William. I am a grown woman.”

  “Not responsible! Are you mad? Of course I am responsible for any trouble that comes of this. I will— Oh my God! I cannot even write to Richard and tell him to find another man to take the duty he set on me. He is in Flanders—” He gasped, clenched his jaws too late over what was supposed to be kept secret. “Jesu Christus,” he groaned, “be deaf, Elizabeth. Where Richard is was meant for no ears but mine.”

  “It is forgotten,” Elizabeth said calmly. “Do I understand you aright? You have some special duty in Wales?”

  “Yes. That is no secret, but…but I would prefer if you did not speak of it to Mauger.”

  “I never speak about you or of anything you tell me to him.” Elizabeth raised her brows. “How could you think you needed to warn me?”

  “I do not seem to be able to think at all,” William sighed. “It is a harmless enough thing that Richard and I are friends, but I have found when it is known it brings envy and…and enemies. People ask for favors from him I know he would not be willing to grant of himself. He would do it for love of me, but I cannot ask things of him, I cannot. So I cannot accommodate them. You understand, do you not? Richard and I could not be friends if I used that friendship.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Tears stung her eyes. That was the difference between friendship and marriage, a marriage was meant for giving and taking. But that was lost forever for her and William.

  “What is it, beloved?” William asked, down on a knee beside her. “Do you want me to take you to Bix? No, that would be worse than Marlowe once I was gone. To Wallingford? Richard’s man would keep you safe for me until I came home again. You would not be alone there. I believe the countess— No, perhaps she will go to her sister. The countess! Elizabeth, I can put you in Sancia’s keeping—”

  Laughing through her tears, Elizabeth leaned forward and stopped his lips with hers. She had certainly accomplished her purpose. William had every intention now of coming home alive and well from the Welsh war. What was more, the boy who had failed her was a man now. He thought first of protecting her and a long way second of everyone else. He had said he would not use his friendship with Richard of Cornwall, but in the next moment he was willing to saddle the earl’s young wife with his mistress or leave her in Wallingford. That would precipitate Cornwall into the unsavory position of being a party to the seduction and conspiring with a favorite to deprive an innocent gentleman of his wife.

  “Do not be so foolish, William,” Elizabeth murmured, breaking their kiss reluctantly. “Everything I said to you in Hurley is still true. I do not love Mauger, but he does not deserve that I abandon him and shame him. And even if you are right and the boys could some day bring themselves to forgive me for—”

 
“Do not say that word again!” William exclaimed, getting to his feet. His eyes were unnaturally bright.

  “What word? Oh. No, but—”

  “A divorce,” William said forcefully. “We will find some innocent reason. It need not be very compelling. Richard will ask Boniface, the archbishop of Canterbury, to grant it, and—”

  “William.” Elizabeth rose and took his hands in hers. “Mauger would never agree unless I left Hurley in his hands. I love you with all my soul and all my body but I could not do that to my people. He would destroy them and the estate.”

  That was an argument William could not counter, and he stood, biting his lips, trying to think his way around the obstacle. “I could make it worth his while,” he said finally. “I have not much ready money, but Richard would lend me whatever I asked for. I could—”

  Again Elizabeth stopped his speech with a kiss. Internally she shuddered at the load of debt William was ready to shoulder to obtain her. Pride mixed with horror. It was sweet to be so precious.

  “You can do nothing now,” she pointed out, as soon as she released his lips. “When you come home from Wales, we will consider this again.” Her voice was calm, but a shudder of fear passed through her at the mention of Wales, and her eyes grew blind looking for a moment. William pressed her back into the chair, bending over her protectively.

  “You are afraid,” he murmured. “I cannot leave you to Mauger alone and afraid. Shall I…shall I write to Richard and…and…” He could not even bring himself to say that he would refuse to do the duty laid upon him and thereby betray his overlord’s trust. For one moment joy leapt in Elizabeth’s heart while she thought she could keep him safe out of the battles to come. In the next, she realized that would be as good as dead, worse than dead, if she destroyed his pride in himself.

  “I am not afraid of Mauger,” Elizabeth said. “It is the war I fear. It is nothing new, William, that I should fear war.”