Virginia Henley Read online

  The Latin prayers seemed interminable, but finally the bishop stepped forward and in forbidding tones began the solemnization of matrimony. Roseanna clutched the arm of her father as the bishop intoned, “It is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.” He looked at Roseanna sternly and raised his voice as if he were passing a sentence upon her. She listened tensely.

  “Marriage was ordained for the hallowing of the union betwixt man and woman; for the procreation of children” —Roseanna shuddered—“to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord; and for the mutual society, help and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, in both prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

  Roseanna closed her eyes and envisioned a shining knight stepping forward. His face was beautiful, for it had God’s light upon it. “She is mine,” he said simply. Another man stepped forward, dressed in black robes with a hood covering his head, looking like a judge who was about to pass sentence. “Ravenspur is no fit husband. He murdered his last wife.”

  Roseanna’s eyes flew open as the bishop intoned, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  “I do,” said Neville Castlemaine solemnly. Before he took a step forward, Roseanna stood on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. Such an unorthodox thing to do, yet so touching. A murmur of approval went through the congregation. Roseanna saw tears in Neville’s eyes as she stepped forward and Ravenspur turned to receive her.

  She did not lower her lashes, for she knew the veil concealed her features well. He was so close, she could see the faint dark shadow upon his chin that remained no matter how closely he shaved. She saw the diamond earring he was wearing, yet it glittered no brighter than his eyes as their darkness reflected the flickering light of the tapers on the altar.

  All her senses were heightened. The acrid smell of candle wax, mixed with the cloying scent of incense, came to her. Her ears picked up a jealous remark and also close behind her the soft sound of Rebecca’s weeping. She felt a garter cutting into her thigh and the embroidered chemise rubbing against her nipples.

  She wanted to cry out in protest, but when she opened her mouth, the response, “I will,” slipped out of its own volition. Her eyes were drawn to her left hand, which Ravenspur was holding so tightly, she thought the circulation of her blood had surely stopped. With hands at least twice the size of hers, he was placing a band of gold upon her third finger. Half an inch in width, it gleamed dully as she felt its substantial weight. The bishop said something about a kiss, and Ravenspur was lifting her veil. She had time only for an indrawn breath before his mouth came down firmly upon hers; then her thoughts exploded. You dare to assume you can seal this marriage with a kiss! I’ll show you otherwise if it kills me! You may be my husband, but you will never own the smallest part of me!

  After the kiss her mind seemed to go blank. Later, she knew she had signed the register; she knew she had traversed the long aisle held close against Ravenspur’s side; she knew she had run through clouds of rice and rose petals to the din of deafening cheers; and she knew she had ridden back to the banquet with Ravenspur anchored to her side. Yet she did not emerge from her trancelike state until she was seated on the dais with her husband on her left and the King on her right.

  Edward’s eyes teased her. “So fair, yet so cruel,” he whispered. “You could not spare me one look.”

  “And what was your reply when I asked to be spared?” she retaliated.

  “Spared?” echoed Roger, hearing every word.

  “From a fate worse than death!” she added with relish.

  Ned and Roger exchanged grins.

  The dishes served were culinary masterpieces: roasted swans and cranes sat beside platters holding suckling pigs and haunches of venison. The spits had been busy since dawn roasting lambs and oxen; kitchen boys staggered carrying roasted boars.

  Acutely conscious of Roseanna, Ravenspur bent low and murmured, “You’d better eat something before all the toasts begin.”

  She bristled. “Are you afraid I will become flown with wine and disgrace you, my lord?”

  “You cannot disgrace another, only yourself,” he said with a twinkling eye.

  The first toast was to the King; the second was from the King to the bride; the third was from the groomsman to the groom; and the fourth was from the bride to her parents. The fifth was from the groom to his bride:

  If all your beauties one by one

  I toast, then I am thinking

  Before the tale were well begun

  I would be dead of drinking.

  The onlookers banged their goblets on the trestle tables in appreciation of the groom’s wit. Roseanna would not be outdone. She replied to her husband’s toast,

  Here’s to you, as good as you are

  And here’s to me, as bad as I am.

  As bad as I am, as good as you are,

  I’m as good as you are, bad as I am.

  Ned winked at Roger and raised his goblet. “She’s right, you know!”

  Roger and Roseanna shared one platter, as was custom. He took all the choicest pieces and placed them on her side. She knew it would be petty to refuse, but the next time a fresh dish was placed before her, she took a choice cut and placed it on his side of the platter. Nothing could show him more plainly that she meant to start out on an even footing. It did not annoy him; it amused him. He picked up the food she had selected for him and ate it with gusto.

  Ale, mead, and malmsey were flowing; the crowd of guests lost all semblance of decorum as they indulged freely. Roseanna saw Rebecca arise from the table looking paler than death. Feeling protective of her, Roseanna arose and walked with her. “I’ll come with you to the garderobe before the dancing begins.”

  Roseanna became very concerned when she heard Rebecca vomit down the jakes. “Oh, Rebecca love, you are ill. I’m afraid it’s all been too much for you. You should have been allowed to stay home in bed today. I’ll tell that husband of yours just that.”

  “Oh, please, no,” begged Rebecca. “Don’t spoil his pleasure, and please don’t tell him that I was sick.”

  Roseanna made no reply but guided the girl back to the table. She had just opened her mouth to speak to Tristan when she caught Rebecca’s imploring expression, which seemed to clearly say, “Please don’t anger him or I shall suffer.” So she said to Tristan, “I need Rebecca to go upstairs for me to see that all is in readiness in the bridal chamber. You don’t mind if she goes up now, do you?”

  “I shall claim forfeit for your first dance,” he bartered.

  Roseanna turned to Rebecca and whispered, “Go up to bed, love. I’ll take care of Tristan.”

  The air was filled with the notes of fiddles and flutes as the trestle tables were being stacked to make room for dancing. When Tristan closed in the dance with Roseanna, he whispered, “I know your secret!”

  She arched a brow at him.

  “You have a soft heart.”

  “And how do you know that?” she challenged.

  “You were being kind to Rebecca. What you don’t realize is that she makes herself sick on purpose.”

  “What an outrageous thing to say! You don’t know your wife very well.”

  “On the contrary, I’ve studied her behavior at my leisure. When you went to the garderobe she vomited didn’t she?”

  Roseanna nodded reluctantly.

  “What she didn’t let you know was that she stuck her finger down her throat to get rid of the food.”

  “Why would she do a thing like that?”

  Tristan shrugged, “She’s obsessed that she will become fat!”

  Roseanna realized that he might be speaking the truth,
but she hotly defended Rebecca nonetheless. “Only because you are repulsed by fat women, you young lecher!”

  “Be fair, sweet sister. Have I ever been lecherous with you, tempting morsel that you are?” As her mind flew back to that day in the woods when he took her to the hunting lodge, he grinned. “From the first moment I saw you, I meant you for Roger. I admit freely that you are the prettiest woman I’ve ever known.”

  How could she hate this young devil when he said such pleasing things? “Ah, Roseanna, I didn’t know what happiness was until I married.” She looked surprised. “Then it was too late,” he whispered. She laughed in spite of herself.

  No sooner did Tristan return her than she was claimed in the dance by the King, then by her father, then by her brother and every nobleman present. Roger lounged back in his chair, playing the indulgent bridegroom. He was relieved, mostly for Roseanna’s sake, that her young swain was conspicuous by his absence.

  Gradually, Roseanna became aware that her husband’s eyes were following her wherever she went. Why did he watch her like a dog with a bone? Suddenly her wicked juices, as Kate Kendall called them, began to bubble, and she decided to do something to goad him and wipe the complacent look from his face. She was dancing with young John Stafford, an earl of the realm. He could hardly believe his luck that she had favored him with two dances.

  Suddenly she leaned against him and whispered into his ear, “You dance divinely; my last partner had all the grace of a spavined cart horse.” He threw back his head and laughed. Then she said, “Ravenspur is watching us with interest.” Immediately young Stafford’s eyes flew across the room to where the baron sat. She calculated that it would seem as if the two of them were sharing a secret joke at her husband’s expense. The little ploy backfired as Stafford murmured, “I’ve just received a signal to return you to your bridegroom. He doesn’t look amused.”

  “Oh, good,” she said sweetly.

  “In fact he looks vastly displeased.”

  “Better and better,” said Roseanna, laughing.

  Stafford returned her to Roger and bowed himself away. Ravenspur’s dark eyes grew intense when he saw her flushed and lovely. “You enjoy dancing, Roseanna.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked sweetly. “I know older men don’t care to dance.” She saw a muscle tighten in his jaw, and her wicked juices bubbled deliciously. He stood up to partner her, and suddenly he grinned. “Are you trying to provoke me to see if you can bring out the savage in me?” he asked low. Then his hands reached inside her wide sleeves and slipped up her bare arms. The gesture was so intimate, she gasped and then shivered. As he swept her into the dance, he laughed down at her. “You like to play teasing games. ’Tis a fine art, and a game two can play. I think I am going to be well pleased with you, Roseanna.” By the time the dance was over, she was quite breathless. She sank into a little curtsey and went into the arms of her next partner, but she was careful to act with decorum this time.

  It was inevitable that the jokes turned bawdy and then downright lewd. Ribald songs began; Roseanna tried to close her ears to the refrain, “I dipped my pole in Eve’s deep hole.” She turned from the singing man in disgust and advanced toward the King. Ned had his great arm about Roger’s shoulders and was singing, “He worked hard all the night and fucked till it were light.”

  Ravenspur caught the look of panic on his bride’s face and extricated himself from the King’s embrace. “I think we’ll go up now, Ned, and for God’s sake, spare us a royal bedding.”

  Edward winked at Roseanna. “Have to obey the damned fellow. He’d think nothing of running me through.”

  Ravenspur swept his arm around her waist to help her through the throng. She clapped her hands over her ears as they sang, “Her font I longed to lick, to strengthen up my prick!”

  They maneuvered the corridors and staircases rapidly, hoping no one would follow. She was relieved that Ravenspur knew his way around, for she would have become hopelessly lost if left to her own devices. He opened a door to a large and sumptuous chamber, where she found Alice and Kate Kendall awaiting her. They dropped into a deep curtsey and murmured, “Good evening, Baron Ravenspur. Good evening, baroness.”

  “Don’t call me that! I hate it!” said Roseanna.

  The room was oval-shaped, with a painted ceiling of shepherdesses, lambs, cherubs, and clouds. Pale blue curtains swept down from the clouds and were fastened to the four ornate gilt posts of the bed. A fire was banked in the white and gold fireplace, and blue brocade couches sat on either side of it. Tall gilded candlestands holding clusters of twenty candles each stood on each table, along with a liberal supply of wine and sweetmeats. One wall was covered by an immense tapestry that continued the pastoral scene of sweet shepherdesses; another wall displayed paintings in heavily gilded frames; and the third wall had two long windows with brocade curtains drawn over them. The floor was covered with a deep-piled rug that felt like blue velvet.

  Roseanna had never seen anything so fine. Her mother loved beautiful things but could never afford this kind of luxury.

  Ravenspur said behind her, “The King honors you. These rooms are usually reserved for the Queen.”

  Suddenly the chamber door burst open, and two dozen people spilled into the room. They were laughing and joking and were led by Tristan and the King; they were intent upon a bedding. The men grabbed Roger, tossed him into the air, and began divesting him of his garments with ribald suggestions. Luckily their noisy laughter prevented most of the lewd words from reaching Roseanna’s delicate ears.

  The women surrounded Roseanna and urged Joanna and her maids to strip her of her wedding finery. Roseanna looked accusingly at her mother. “How could you?” she cried.

  “Darling, a wedding is for fun and games. They won’t be denied. They demand proof that you go to your bridegroom unblemished, and I am proud to show them that it is so.”

  The color drained from Roseanna’s face and she went rigid as Alice, Kate, and Joanna began to undress her. Alice was blushing furiously, while Kate’s eyes held hers for a moment to convey a look of pity. Then she shrugged and with nimble fingers slipped the gown from her mistress’s body, thinking the sooner they got this over with, the better it would be for Roseanna.

  They didn’t stop at her shift but stripped her of stockings, garters—everything. The noisy laughter hushed as she stood naked before the assembly, and she quickly turned her back upon them. Her dark hair fell to the backs of her knees and shielded her from everyone’s eyes, but Joanna reached out and lifted the sable tresses to show her creamy back and long, slim legs. In an instant Kate slipped the white silken robe over her nakedness. Roseanna stood stiffly with downcast eyes, the material clinging to the outline of her upthrust breasts. The virgin was deemed ready to be taken by her bridegroom, the raven.

  On the other side of the room there was a commotion. Roger was demanding his black velvet bedrobe and was told it was nowhere to be found. They made a pretense of hunting for it, but Roger knew that Tristan’s fine hand was in on this plot and that the robe would not be forthcoming. He was being urged to “have at” his bride; the men began to jostle him toward Roseanna.

  The women tried to lead her to the bed, but she stubbornly refused to move. “No, no!” she cried firmly. Then her eyes met his, and he was stabbed to the heart with her mute look of appeal.

  Demands of “Bed her! Bed her!” assaulted their ears. Roger knew they would not leave without at least a token display on his part.

  “Time you slid your great sword into her sheath!” cried one. “Put your yard up her!” bellowed another.

  Roger turned to the King. “When I make my move, get them out of here!” Then, magnificently naked, he strode toward Roseanna. Her eyes traveled the length of him, lingered a moment on his sex, then blushingly lifted to his determined face. He embraced her with strong arms and dipped his dark head to find her soft mouth. Her lips met his with a sob, and he whispered, “My sweetheart, it will be over in a minute.”
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  Her legs went weak from the nightmare of it all, and she knew she would swoon. The moment he felt her sag against him, he bent and slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his muscular chest. Suddenly, in spite of the onlookers, he hardened. The great rigid length of him stood up until the tip touched the silken burden he carried. A great cheer rang around the room as he revived her with his kisses, and as he strode toward the bed, the King ushered the protesting merrymakers from the chamber.

  Roger set her down gently onto the bed, then moved swiftly to the wardrobe. He donned his velvet robe and turned to the bed. “I’m sorry, my love. They were far gone in drink and couldn’t be dissuaded.”

  She held up her hands as if to stop him from coming closer.

  “Ravenspur, some things must be settled between us,” she began nervously.

  He cocked a lazy brow. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I wish to have my own bedchamber and my own suite of rooms after tonight. I would find it intolerable to have to share with a man I do not love, nor even like,” she said. Risking a glance at his hard, lean face, she saw a mixture of lust and amusement. He was like a predatory animal; this close, she felt menace in his big, powerful body. Quickly, she moved across the bed and went on rapidly. “I want to make it plain that I married you because I had no choice, but I have no intention of becoming your wife in the true sense of the word.”

  “You mean willingly,” Ravenspur amended silkily.

  Her eyes widened in horror, “You wouldn’t rape me?” she cried.

  He almost reassured her that he would not, then caught himself in time. With Roseanna he must keep the upper hand, or she would bewitch him and wrap him around her little finger. Before he was finished with her, he would make her as hot to fuck as he was.