Winter Song Read online

  Extricating his hands and tipping himself sideways, Raymond began to touch a firm but well-developed breast, and then the soft curves of her belly, hip, and thigh. Now that his weight held them together, Alys slid one hand from his neck over his shoulder and down his back. She could feel his shaft, hard and full, pressing against her. Ignorant of elaborate technique though Alys might be, she was not so ignorant as to be unaware of what that meant. Raymond was now ready.

  Knowledgeable only in the ways of beasts, Alys expected him to turn her around and mount her. She was not at all frightened. A warmth seemed to be spreading over her from the places Raymond touched with his hands and from their joined mouths. Her skin was all tingly, almost ticklish, but it generated no desire in her to laugh or flinch away. Raymond lifted his lips from hers, but before Alys could murmur a complaint, she used her breath to gasp with pleasure. His warm lips were running down her throat, pausing a moment in the hollow where her pulse beat fast and hard, moving again until they fastened on a nipple.

  Involuntarily, Alys cried out softly and clutched Raymond tighter. Every sensation she had felt before was greatly heightened and, inexplicably, the sucking at her breast waked a pulsing heat between her legs. Instinct instructed ignorance. Without explanation Alys knew that she had been wrong when she first said she was ready. She was not actually thinking, of course. The growing intensity of her physical sensations blocked coherent thought, but some interior process recognized that Raymond had known she was wrong, and gratitude added to her joy and confidence.

  Alys was, however, crediting her husband with rather more than he deserved. It was his own pleasure rather than his knowledge of Alys’s lack of readiness that was making him prolong his foreplay. Nonetheless, his pleasure did come from an awareness of Alys as a special person and thus both a recipient and giver of special pleasure.

  Although Raymond had initially been transfixed by Alys’s beauty and was astonished anew by it each time he saw her after an absence, quite truly his desire to spend his life with Alys did not rest on her appearance alone. And, although strength, honesty, and good sense are not what a man thinks about in bed, there still remained a sense of something different and special about her which lent an added fillip to the way she sighed and cried out and kept Raymond playing with her. He abandoned one breast for the other, running his fingers playfully up and down her body, through the curls on her mount of Venus, and down between her thighs.

  Part of Raymond’s pleasure in Alys’s response was that she showed so much surprise as her passion increased. It was very apparent that no man had handled her before, nor had she ever experienced the sensations his hands and lips were awakening in her body. Deliciously, she did not seem to know what to do, clutching distractedly now at his head or his hands or his body, moving instinctively in response to his fingering and kissing, and uttering little moans and cries.

  Since this evidence of his success in stimulating his bride’s desire was equally stimulating to Raymond, it was not very long before he mounted her. She sighed with pleasure at first when he positioned himself, the preliminary touches soothing an urgent need, but his first hard thrust brought a cry of pain, and Alys’s body stiffened. The abrupt change startled Raymond into a clear awareness of the realities. Moreover, he was conditioned by the situation in his family to regard noblewomen as fragile and to treat them with gentleness and consideration.

  He paused and murmured, “I am sorry, dearling, sorry, but there is no other way.”

  As he spoke, the tension went out of Alys’s body. She had been surprised by the sudden pang, for she had forgotten everything while Raymond caressed her. This was the pain she had been warned of, she remembered. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered, “but kiss me again.”

  Enthralled by her innocence, Raymond complied and also inserted a hand between their bodies to play with her breast, all the while pressing himself into her. There was an obstruction, which yielded but did not give way under the steady pressure. Raymond withdrew slowly, still caressing her. Alys’s hands, which had been gripping his back, began again to stroke his sides up and down. Nibbling her lips, her throat, and again her lips, Raymond thrust hard again.

  He gained some depth and this time Alys did not cry out, although she grew tense. Then her hands slid down his back and pressed him harder against her. He tried, but the pressure alone did not succeed. Raymond had a sudden horrid memory of a jest which had gone round the court of Navarre concerning a man who could not broach his bride.

  He lifted his head and shoulders to give himself leverage, drew, and thrust with all the force he could muster. Alys gasped and Raymond himself uttered a pained oath, but when he came to rest he was sheathed to the hilt.

  “I am seated now,” he whispered to Alys, letting himself down on her gently. “The worst is over, love.”

  She had been breathing quick and hard, just short of sobbing, but she quieted at once. Her faith in him was touching, and despite his urge to plunge up and down in the warm ooze that now surrounded his shaft, Raymond contained himself, concentrating on caressing her and moving minimally. Alys’s grip, which had become lax, tightened. She hugged him close with one arm and stroked his back or played with his hair. Finally, to Raymond’s surprise, her body began to move with his.

  Alys had little awareness of what she was doing, rapt as she was in her own sensations. There had never been much fear in her of coupling, and what little tension had been generated by her physical pain had been removed by Raymond’s tender explanations. He had said the worst was over, and it was. The remaining soreness and stretching were soothed by the extra lubrication of her own blood, and seemed only to intensify the thrilling sensation in her loins. All the tingling that had sensitized her skin centered there now, and every touch of Raymond’s hands or lips seemed to increase it.

  When he drew out, Alys sought to follow the source of her pleasure. Also the easing of Raymond’s weight gave her a little freedom to position herself, thus, instinctively, she served her own purposes and increased her husband’s excitement. He moved more freely. Alys responded, adding a little wriggle of the hips that drew a gasp from Raymond and a little mutter of satisfaction from her. Suddenly she gripped his buttocks hard, holding him still against her while she writhed, gasping louder and louder until the deep breaths broke into sobs.

  Initially startled and thinking he had hurt her again, Raymond’s fast approaching climax was delayed by a few essential minutes. Alys had torn her mouth free of his to breathe, but now she turned her head toward him to kiss his cheek and chin. Her hands relaxed, ran up his body, then stroked the back of his neck. Urgency restored, Raymond began to move again, but there was less pleasure in it when Alys lay relaxed, her body flaccid.

  “Move,” he bade her, almost angrily. “Put your legs around me. Move.”

  She obeyed him instantly. Alys clutched him tight with both arms and legs, rose to meet him, wriggled against him, and kissed his shoulders since, in his final extremity, he had lifted his head and strained backward. A single cry was wrenched from him, and he fell forward. Both lay quiet.

  After a few minutes, little light kisses on his cheek and ear broke Raymond’s doze. “No more,” he mumbled. “I am drained out.”

  Alys chuckled. “I will not importune you, but I cannot breathe while you lie atop me.”

  “Beg pardon,” he sighed, rolling off.

  He was asleep again before he stopped rolling, and Alys was not far behind, her rest delayed only by the time it took her to snuggle close to his warm body. One of the drawbacks Alys had found to being a small person was that her body did not generate enough heat to warm the featherbeds quickly. Generally, Alys fell asleep feeling cold. It was an added pleasure of marriage to have a source of heat provided. Pressing herself firmly against Raymond’s back, Alys slept also.

  For several hours Raymond was too heavily asleep to be aware of anything. However, after that he started to shift his position. The attempt to turn brought him hard against Alys, wh
o was still plastered to his back, seeking warmth. Raymond uttered a muffled oath, and Alys squeaked as his weight came down on her arm.

  He jerked upright and Alys asked him why he had sat up. She had been wakened completely by the pain when Raymond bent her arm unnaturally. Not ever having shared her bed, except with a maidservant when she was so young as to be in danger of falling out, although too old for a cradle, Alys knew at once whose body was beside her. Raymond said collectedly that he needed to use the pot. Whereupon he got out of bed and suited his actions to his word.

  “Do not put it back,” Alys said, crawling out also.

  She was frozen when she returned to bed and pressed herself passionately into her husband’s arms. These were open to receive her, but as soon as they did, Raymond yelped with shock. Her icy hands and feet had made contact. Then he began to laugh.

  “What is it?” Alys asked.

  “I am much aggrieved,” he replied.

  Since he was still chuckling, Alys did not feel worried by the words. “My lord and husband, how have I offended?” she asked meekly.

  “I thought you desired me,” Raymond said, “but it is plain that I am no more to you than a bag of hot sand.”

  “No, no,” Alys protested with innocent gravity. “You are more than that, for sand soon grows cold and you stay warm.”

  “What?” Raymond cried, half teasing and half outraged. “Do you find no pleasure other than my warmth in my company?”

  He was disappointed. Although tension and a long, active day had brought him to bed fatigued and his own relief had further blurred the final moments of his nuptual coupling, Raymond had carried a strong feeling of pride into sleep. It had seemed to him that Alys had shown more than compliance during their mating, and it was not every man, he told himself, who could bring a woman to joy her first time. He could not mention the matter himself, but if one should ask… But now it seemed it had not happened. The slight chagrin was dissipated by Alys’s giggle.

  “But you told me I must not importune you, my lord.”

  “What?” he bellowed. Alys turned her face into the pillow, her shoulders shaking, but Raymond was not deceived. He turned her back promptly and asked, “When?”

  Because the bed curtains had been pushed back when they left the bed, Raymond could see Alys widen her eyes into a stare of innocence. “Why, my lord, when I only kissed you to wake you because—”

  The sentence ended in another squeak as Raymond squeezed her, but as soon as she got her breath back, she continued indefatigably, “Besides, could a modest maiden—”

  That time Raymond stopped her mouth with his lips. “You are maiden no longer,” he said, “and as to your modesty, even when you were a maiden, I had my doubts.”

  “Yet in some things I am modest,” Alys murmured, the laughter gone from her voice. “I would not know how to ask. I only know country words. Surely so precious a set of jewels must have a more elegant name.”

  “No,” Raymond muttered, drawing breath suddenly. “Stop, Alys. You will make me too eager.”

  She obeyed him, but he found that the further adventures of her questing fingers were almost as stimulating, and soon they were coupled again. This time Raymond was confident about her reaction, and when they were finished he held her almost as close as while they made love. This had been true pleasure, all pleasure, he thought. No sin to confess and do penance for, no need to sneak and hide for fear of talk or a husband, and to make better best, Alys was sweeter than all. Even the most experienced whore had been unable to arouse in him the heat that Alys’s innocent explorations had generated. Moreover, with her he could have exactly what he wanted. She had no preconceived notions. She was willing and eager to be taught what would please him.

  Alys was equally content. She was not quite as ignorant as she had implied. Although they had been sorely hurried to make all ready for the wedding, Elizabeth had not failed in her duty as Alys’s stepmother. She had made clear certain important facts about men and women and their differences—and tactfully provided a small pot of sweet-smelling unguent.

  “Not for the first time,” Elizabeth had warned. “That once you must endure whatever pain there is. Raymond loves you and believes in you, but if he slides in too soft and easy the first time, questions will be raised in his mind. The pain will not be much, but however much it is, it will be well worth bearing.”

  Whatever initial doubts Alys had, and they were few, she was now abundantly certain that Elizabeth had been right not only about the joy of coupling, but about other significant facts.

  “I do not know when it will come to you—early, I hope,” Elizabeth had said, “because you love Raymond and desire him already. I knew it not until I came to your father’s bed. And that is something you must remember. For most women, for you, I am certain, there must be love in the heart before the body will render up that pleasure. It is not so for men, although I believe their pleasure may be greater where they love.”

  Alys had nodded wisely at that. So much she knew from her father’s behavior.

  “Also,” Elizabeth had continued, prudently not probing the source of Alys’s knowledge, “men are quicker in coming to their pleasure than women. Those who love try to hold back, but it is not easy for them and sometimes impossible. Thus, a woman should never try to prolong her joy. Take it as soon as it comes and do what you can to bring it quickly.” She smiled. “You will have no loss in that. If your husband is slow, you can be blessed twice or even thrice. That is possible for women, but not for men.”

  So, when Alys used the pot, she had liberally anointed herself, knowing that Raymond would look politely away while she relieved herself. The way thus eased, there had been no pain, only pleasure, and because she knew the sensation she sought, it was easier to find. Alys sighed softly. Raymond’s head turned toward her at once.

  “Something ails you, beloved?” he asked.

  “No,” Alys replied, seeking and taking his hand. “I am very happy. I know it to be untrue, for life is life and never without pain, but I feel that nothing will ever ail me again. All is so perfect, Raymond, even that we should marry in winter.”

  That was so curious a statement that Raymond lifted himself on an elbow, the better to see Alys’s face in the light that came through the bed curtain they had forgotten to pull closed. “Why is winter better than another time to marry?” he asked.

  Alys’s dimples appeared, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Because the nights are so long,” she replied.

  Raymond allowed himself to fall back with a groan. “Holy Mother,” he protested, “why do you always say you fear I will die in war? You will kill me long before I have a chance to don arms if you are already eager for another encounter.”

  “That was not what I meant at all!” Alys exclaimed. “You have already given that lesson. Quite the contrary, I only meant that we would have time to sleep and restore ourselves. But…are you awake enough to talk, Raymond? I know that it is wrong to trouble a man after coupling, that he then desires to sleep—”

  “And how do you know this?” Raymond felt a fool for the sharpness of his tone the moment the words were out. Not only her obvious virginity but Alys’s every action bespoke her innocence.

  She blinked with surprise but did not take offense, merely answering, “Elizabeth warned me of it. She says that even my father, who dotes upon her, will snap if she troubles him at such a time.”

  “It is good advice in general,” Raymond agreed, suddenly realizing that women must be different. Seemingly they desired some speech after love. It was interesting, perhaps worth remembering. “But just now,” he continued, “I am awake. Speak if you wish.”

  “I will not keep you waking long,” Alys said, “but it has come into my mind that life for us will not often be as it was in my father’s keep where we had around us only trusted servants. We will move from place to place while you settle the lands firmly into your hand. The keeps will be new to our governance and, mayhap, the castle folk wil
l not love us. Moreover, the guests we have will not often be old friends whose ways and loyalties we know.”

  “This is certainly true,” Raymond remarked, smiling, “but it is an odd thought to have in bed on your wedding night.”

  “Not so.” Alys shook her head. “It is because of what you said to me earlier about the king. Then I wondered to myself when it would be safe for you to tell me what I must know—”

  “Must know?” There was a slight edge to Raymond’s voice. He had not taken offense when Alys seemed to be warning him of things he knew, because he was amused and because she was so sweet and warm in his arms, but this order to disclose what might be private between the king and himself was going too far.

  Briefly Alys was swept with impatience over the foolish pride the sharpness of that remark betrayed, but her body still held the languor of love and her mind the memory of Raymond’s gentleness when most men would have been uncaring. Just now she was willing to turn away wrath with a soft word.

  “So that I will say nothing foolish if the queen or others should ask me questions, my lord.”

  “Yes,” Raymond said, realizing he had misunderstood, “you are right.”

  “And truly, it seemed to me there would not be a time we could have safe from curious ears except abed.”

  Raymond laughed. “Now I wonder if, instead of importuning me, you wish to avoid me. There is nothing so damping to the heat of love as talk of politics.”

  Alys raised herself and kissed Raymond’s nose. “We could leave it for after,” she suggested, “as now.”

  “I am not sure that is better,” he said wryly. “Nonetheless, what you say is good sense, and in truth, I do not like the situation in which I have been placed. Briefly, it is this. For many years my mother’s kinsmen, the de Solers, held both power and the king’s favor in Bordeaux. I do not know what happened there during the war two years ago or last year while the king lingered in Gascony, because my mother opposed my going there and my father did not wish to become involved between England and France.”