SirenSong (17 page)

“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.