What She Wants

Chapter Eight

"I do hope you like the gown, my dear. I hired a woman to make it the moment I reached London. I knew 'twould take several days for my man to find Hugh and for him to ride to London. Of course, Hugh was swifter than I expected. He also left for here directly after meeting with Richard's solicitor, while I had to wait until later in the day for your gown to be finished before I could follow."
Willa made sympathetic noises as they entered the castle and crossed the hall to the stairs. She knew from experience that was the only response necessary. Lord Wynekyn was something of a talker.
" 'Twas quiet a trial, I can tell you," he said with a laugh as they ascended the stairs. "I did not have you there for measurements, of course. Fortunately, the dressmaker's daughter appeared to me to be the same size as yourself, so she stood in for you. Then the woman wished to know in what style she should make it. As if I knew anything about ladies' fashions." He laughed at the very idea as they moved along the hall, then steered her through the open door of a bedchamber. "I simply told her to make it in the latest style, so I do hope it suits you."
The last was said as he gestured toward the bed, where a gown had been carefully laid out. Its arms were spread wide to show off the fine trim and wide sleeves, its skirts flared to best effect.
"The color of the cloth reminded me of your eyes," he said as Willa moved slowly forward, her fascinated gaze fixed on the soft blue-gray gown.
It was quite the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. Willa could hardly believe it was hers. Pausing at the foot of the bed, she reached out tentatively and brushed one finger lightly over the cloth. A small breath slipped from her lips. "So soft."
Wynekyn moved forward at once, his expression terribly sad as he clasped her shoulders and peered down at the gown with her. "Aye. The softest material I could find. There will be no more coarse peasant cloth against your skin, Willa. That time is over. Hugh is a strong and able warrior. He will keep you safe without the need for subterfuge. Not that Richard was not a strong and able warrior, too," he rushed to add as if just realizing how his words might be interpreted. "He was. But - "
Willa hushed him by turning and placing one finger against his lips. A smile bloomed on her face despite the tears that now filled her eyes. "That part of my life is over now. I shall have a husband, and children, and not need to hide. 'Tis a beautiful gown. Thank you, uncle."
She threw her arms around him in an exuberant hug of gratitude and simple happiness. Wynekyn cleared his throat and patted her back, then turned quickly away to move toward the door when she released him. She supposed the move was meant to hide the fact that he was wiping a suspicious wetness from his own cheeks even as Willa quickly brushed the silly tears from her own.
"Well, I shall remove myself so you may prepare," he said in bracing tones as he reached the door. "I shall have a bath ordered up and send Eada to help you dress."
"Oh nay!" Willa said quickly. " 'Twas a long morning for Eada and she is not as young as she used to be. Let her rest. I can dress myself."
"Nonsense! You are a lady now. I shall see if I cannot find someone else to attend you." He smiled slightly. "Send for me when you are ready and I shall escort you below."
Willa returned his smile and nodded, then watched the door close behind him before turning to the bed again. She stared down at the lovely gown for one moment, then threw herself on top of it with a squeal. Gathering it in her arms, she rolled onto her back holding it close to her body. It was beautiful. Gorgeous. The most scrumptious gown ever made and it was all hers!
Realizing that her behavior might wrinkle the gown, she pushed herself quickly off the bed. Lifting the gown, she held it against the front of her body and peered down at herself, trying to see how it was going to look. She marveled at its beauty for several moments, wondering over its softness.
She was rubbing the petal-soft material against her cheek for the umpteenth time when there was a sudden throat-clearing from the door, followed by a tentative, "Wee Willa?"
Willa glanced toward the door with a start. It had been years since anyone had called her wee Willa. Not since Luvena. She peered at the older woman in the doorway. Several moments passed before Willa realized who she was. Luvena's mother. She and Luvena had been the only people to call her that name. The rest of the servants had addressed her as "m'lady," but Luvena, as her friend, had chosen the nickname and her mother used it, too. Willa had insisted on it.
"Alsneta." She breathed the name uncertainly as it came to mind. The woman looked like Luvena's mother. But the years had not been kind. Her once red-gold hair had turned mostly gray with just a few strands of color left to hint at its former glory. Her lovely laughing face was now too thin and lined with misery. She appeared a dried-up husk of the woman she'd been. Yet her face was transformed when she broke into a smile.
"You remember me." She sounded both surprised and pleased at the realization. The sudden smile softened her features, making her almost lovely again.
"Of course I do," Willa murmured. Letting the gown slip from her fingers to the bed, she moving impulsively forward to hug the woman. The cook was stiff at first, but then relaxed and hugged her back. Willa released her and said, "You helped raise me. You and Eada both had charge of me as a child until - " She ended the sentence abruptly and glanced away toward the bed, unwilling to bring up Luvena or her death. Spying the gown, she drew the woman forward by the hand. "Did you see the gown Lord Wynekyn brought me? I am to be married in it," she said quickly to change the subject.
When a moment passed in silence, Willa glanced uncertainly at the older woman, biting her lip when she saw the grief Alsneta struggled with. Knowing that her presence must be reawakening sad memories, Willa turned back to the gown, touching it gently. "I am sorry, Alsneta. I did not mean to - "
" 'Tis a lovely gown, is it not?" The older woman broke in with determined cheerfulness. " 'Twill look lovely oh you." Reaching past Willa, she picked it up. "Lord Wynekyn asked me to send someone to help you dress. I have been quite busy with the preparations for the feast, but everything is ready now and I thought it might make you more comfortable to see a familiar face. My, is this cloth not soft?"
The aging servant continued to chatter with determined cheer as the bath was brought in and filled. She talked right through undressing Willa, helping her with the bath, drying her hair before the fire, and continued on as she helped Willa into the new gown. Most of what she said was just chatter; gossip about servants Willa had yet to meet, tales of her sister who had died the year earlier, as well as complaints of her nephew whom she was sure had hurried the woman to her grave with some of his antics. Willa let it drift over her head as she enjoyed the extravagance of a bath. She hadn't even realized she had missed the luxury. She'd not bathed in anything but the river since her tenth year. There was no tub in the cottage. It had been the river in the summer and a pitcher of water and basin for a hand bath in the winter. Willa found it lovely to relax in fire-heated water.
Warm baths, soft gowns, and someone to fuss over her and help her dress - it all seemed like a little bit of heaven to her. Willa was almost sorry when Alsneta pronounced her ready and hurried out to find Lord Wynekyn.
"Well," Wynekyn said moments later, pausing just inside the door Alsneta had left open. Then, for the first time in all the years that Willa had known him, he did not speak. He simply stared at her, his face full of wonder.
Willa beamed back, feeling as beautiful as she had ever felt in her life. "Is it not fine?" she asked, running her hand over the blue-gray material of the skirt. Nothing she had ever owned, even as a pampered child, had equaled the beauty and comfort of this gown.
"Aye, well..." A slight frown now came to his face. "Let us hope Hugh agrees. I had not realized how snug a fit 'twould be. I was sure the dressmaker's daughter was your size. Obviously, I was mistaken."
" 'Tis not snug. 'Tis a perfect fit, my lord," Willa assured him. She ran her hands down over her hips with pleasure.
Wynekyn followed the gesture with some dismay. "You have become a woman! Odd, I always thought of you as a slender child. Willowy and graceful. But somehow, when I was not looking, you grew - " He cut himself off, but gestured vaguely to her breasts and hips where the cloth of the gown clung lovingly.
Willa gave a slightly embarrassed laugh at his bemused words, then frowned as she fingered one long sleeve. "You do not think that the sleeves may be a bit large, do you?"
Wynekyn shook his head. "Nay. Long hanging sleeves are the style just now, my dear." Clearing his throat, he held out a hand. "Well, come along then. We shall go below and see the deed done."
Willa gave up touching the gown with some reluctance. Managing a nervous smile, she slipped her fingers into his. He led her from the room.
"My... my... my - "
"God," Jollivet supplied dryly as he followed Lucan's wide eyes to see what had him stammering so. Willa was a vision descending the stairs on Wynekyn's trembling arm. "My God is what you are trying to say. Though goddess would suit the situation better, I think."
Hugh turned toward the stairs at that and immediately felt his mouth go as dry as ashes. Willa had been lovely in her course peasant sacks, but she was glorious in the gown Wynekyn had given her. A sigh from either side of him made Hugh glance at first one, then the other of the two men flanking him. He took in their awestruck gazes and had to wonder what the devil he was getting himself into. Even his effeminate cousin was drooling over the chit.
The wedding was held on the steps of the chapel. Father Brennan conducted the ceremony in a solemn tone while every servant and soldier of Hillcrest set down his work to witness it.
Afterward, they all sat down for a celebratory meal in the great hall. The air was fragrant with a mixture of spices and the smell of roasted meat. It was a long celebratory meal served in several courses. There were potages, tarts, bread, cheese, custard, mutton, venison, eel, figpeckers, pigeon pies, suckling pig, braised lettuces, gilded peacock, a festooned boar's head, oysters steamed in almond milk, goose in a sauce of grapes and garlic, a whole roast sheep with sour cherry sauce, pastries with pine nuts and sugar, frumenty and spiced mulled wine. There was even rosewater for the guests to clean their hands. Cook had truly outdone herself, especially given the short amount of time she had had to prepare.
Hugh sat through it all in a sort of daze, the combination of his cold and lack of sleep creeping up on him as he ate and drank. He was soon swaying wearily in his seat, his eyelids drooping and threatening to close on him. It was when he started awake nearly face down in his trencher that Hugh realized he was in danger of passing out from exhaustion on his own wedding night. That possibility was unacceptable to Hugh. His gaze shifted around the room. He was pretty sure that they had reached the final course, but wasn't at all positive that the sotelty for this course had yet been presented. There had already been a large eagle after the first course, then an effigy of St. Andrew made of marzipan and dough after the second, and... no, that was it. The third and final sotelty had not yet been presented, he realized wearily. Then the kitchen doors opened and the cook strode out.
Alsneta was leading a parade of twelve men carrying a large platter bearing a six-foot square castle. It was an exact replica of Hillcrest, Hugh realized as she led the men to stand before him and Willa at the head table. And well done, too, he noted as everyone began to ooh and ahh over it. It appeared to be made of marzipan and colored dough. The detail was rather amazing. There were even little figures that resembled him and Willa standing on the top steps of the castle. It appeared he had a very talented cook here at Hillcrest, he realized with pride. He nodded his approval to the woman even as he wondered if it were an edible sotelty. Often such creations were not, but this one looked quite delicious. He got his answer when the cook led the castle-bearing men back to the kitchens and a small army of servants began hurrying out with wafers, fruit and a sweet called vyn dowce.
The castle could not be consumed. Not that it mattered... Hugh was quite stuffed to the gills. Everyone should be. He noticed that Willa was waving away any further food. Thank God, he thought with relief as another fit of coughing overcame him. He did not think he could sit at the table another moment. Deciding he'd suffered long enough, Hugh took a last sip of mulled wine to help clear his throat. He forced a smile and tapped Willa on the shoulder to draw her attention from the conversation she was having with Wynekyn.
"Do you not think you should go above stairs now?"
"Above stairs?" she asked with surprise. "But 'tis early yet, my lord husband. I am not the least tired."
"Aye. Well, we would not wish you tired on this night."
"Why? I will not sleep if I am not tired."
"Aye. But 'tis our wedding night," he said patiently, giving her a meaningful look. For a moment he feared she'd been left completely innocent of what went on in the marriage bed; then her expression suddenly cleared.
"Oh! You wish to - " She cut herself off, blushing. Standing, she turned to Lord Wynekyn. Hugh distinctly heard her say, "I apologize, my lord. I must to bed now."
"So early?" Lord Wynekyn exclaimed in surprise, to which the sweet young bride said, "Aye, I fear my husband wishes to bed me."
Wynekyn's startled gaze shot to Hugh. The old man smiled wryly and said, "Of course he does."
Feeling color suffuse his face, Hugh stood impatiently and grasped Willa's arm. "Come."
"Nay." Wynekyn was on his feet at once. He caught Hugh's arm. "This is not a race, Hugh. Allow her to prepare in privacy."
Hugh opened his mouth to protest, then spotted the hope on her face. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He'd already proven himself a bumbling oaf around her. He had no intention of continuing on that way.
"Very well," he agreed unhappily. "Go prepare."
Willa flashed a grateful smile at her new husband, then glanced around for Eada. But the woman was nowhere to be seen. Confusion filled her briefly, then she recalled that someone had approached the older woman at the start of the feast, asking if she would assist the village midwife in a difficult birth. It seemed Willa was on her own. That thought was rather dismaying and Willa found herself having to fight the urge to flee as she made her way toward the stairs.
This fear was a bit startling. Willa had never expected to feel such trepidation. After all, Eada had explained everything. She knew what to expect. There was no need for this cowardice. What was about to come did not sound very pleasant. Actually it sounded rather awkward, ungainly and unpleasant. Still, it must surely be more fun than it sounded, else people would not do it often, she assured herself. She started up the stairs, trying for a sedate pace.
She wasn't convinced.
Unfortunately, Eada had taken pains to stress that the first time might be unpleasant. She'd claimed there would be blood and pain the first time and that both proved the bride's innocence. Fortunately, the old woman also had taken some steps to help Willa with that unpleasantness. She'd prepared a decoction of herbs for her. The mixture was to help soothe Willa, to make the first time a more relaxed venture and perhaps ease some of the discomfort for her.
With the night ahead looming large in Willa's mind, it was not surprising that the herbs were the first thing she attended to on arriving in the room she and her husband were to share. Eada had pressed the small pouch of herbs into her hand ere leaving for the village earlier and Willa had hooked the laces of the pouch to her girdle so as not to forget it at the table. She unhooked the pouch now as her gaze settled with some relief on a pitcher and two mugs set on a chest by the fire. It seemed she need not send for a beverage. That was one bother out of the way.
Willa hurried to the chest, chose one of the mugs, opened the pouch and poured a goodly quantity of the mixture in. She then added some of the liquid from the pitcher, sniffing at it as she did. It smelled like meade, but with an unexpected nutty scent. She watched the herbs whirl around in her cup and wondered if she'd added enough.
Eada had told her to be sparing with them. But what exactly had she meant by sparing? Sparing as in a pinch? Or sparing as in no more than the pouch full? After all, there was only going to be one first night for her. She would never need the herbs again.
Aye, Willa decided. The full pouch should do it. She tipped the pouch into the mug and used a finger to stir the liquid. A grimace of distaste covered her face when she licked that finger afterward. Oh, this was going to be awful. The concoction was worse than vile. And she had to drink all of it? Perhaps suffering the bedding without it would be less painful, she thought, then nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of footsteps approaching. When they continued on past the door, she relaxed with a sigh. Alright, she was obviously terribly tense, which Eada had said would only make the chore more difficult. A nice soothing potion might be for the best, after all.
Picking up the potion, she hesitated, then held her nose, tipped her head back and poured it straight down her throat. Oh! 'Twas truly vile. Disgusting! Ugh. Setting the mug back on the chest, she grabbed up the pitcher and began to drink straight from it, gulping at the fruity liquid in an effort to wash the taste and bits of herb from her mouth. She drained the pitcher dry trying to wash the vile potion away. The draught did manage to remove most of the taste from her mouth, but not all. She'd just decided she would have to put up with it when the bedchamber door opened.
Setting the empty pitcher back on the chest, she whirled toward the door. Surprised relief covered her face as she saw who was entering. "Eada! You are back!"
"Aye." The woman closed the door and bustled into the room. "And not a moment too soon, I see. Ye haven't even started to prepare."
"I just got up here," Willa explained.
"Oh. Well, let's get ye ready then. Where are the herbs I gave ye?"
"I already took them. I was just about to change for bed."
Eada's gaze turned sharp. "Were you sparing as I instructed?"
"Oh aye," Willa said, then to distract the old woman from further questions she asked about the birthing Eada had attended.
Hugh thought himself a most patient man. He'd watched his wife leave the table, then started to count to one hundred. He had decided that once he reached one hundred, he would be free to follow her. That seemed perfectly reasonable to him. After all, she only had a couple of items of clothing to remove and a bed to crawl into. Surely, that could not take much time. Aye, the count of one hundred was more than long enough for his bride to prepare herself.
He'd started out counting at a nice slow measured rate, but boredom had soon encouraged him to rush through several dozen numbers before he forced himself to pause and slow down again. Then Lucan had addressed a question to him about his new estates and Hugh had lost count as he paused to answer.
Irritated at himself for losing count, he'd arbitrarily picked ninety as the place to begin counting again. Hugh hastily counted off the last ten numbers and started to rise.
Wynekyn grabbed his arm. "You are not thinking of going above stairs already, are you?"
"Do you not think she will be ready?" Hugh asked uncertainly.
"Good Lord, nay!" Wynekyn pulled him back to sit on the bench. "She will barely have reached the room."
Hugh scowled and glanced toward the stairs. He supposed that might be true. She had not exactly been rushing up the stairs while he had been rather rushing the count to a hundred. She probably had just reached the room, he realized and stifled a yawn as he tried to imagine what she would be doing right now. Would she insist on a bath ere getting into bed? Nay, he decided, she had bathed before dressing for the wedding. So, at this moment she should be stripping off her clothes.
That thought helped to shake some of the sleep from his brain. Right that minute she was probably undoing the laces of her beautiful blue gown. She would let it slip off her shoulders and drop to the floor in a soft swish. She would step delicately out of the pool of cloth and move to the bowl of water in just her chemise. Her thin white chemise, so thin that when she stood there before the firelight, her legs would be visible through the cloth as she scooped water into her cupped hands and raised it to splash over her face. That water would drip down to dampen the cloth across her chest, making the material cling to her soft rounded breasts so that her hardening nipples -
"Do you not think so, Hugh?"
"Huh?" He blinked as the vision he'd been enjoying disappeared, then turned with some confusion to Wynekyn. "Do I not think what?"
"That the cook outdid herself? 'Tis something Richard always demanded. He considered Alsneta a master. She was training Luvena to follow in her footsteps - when the child wasn't off playing with Willa."
"Hmm." Hugh nodded absent agreement, then asked fretfully, "Do you not think she is ready by now?"
"Nay!" Wynekyn snapped, then gestured beyond him. "Look. Eada has returned from the village and is going up to assist her. No doubt she will come down to let you know when Willa is ready."
Hugh grunted at that. It was his considered opinion that Eada would only slow the process. It seemed to him that by this time Willa had probably finished with her ablutions and whatever else it was women did before retiring. She had no doubt already removed her thin chemise and slid naked beneath the linens.
He licked his lips at that thought, knowing that soon - in moments, he hoped - he would be taking her sylphlike body into his arms, feeling the soft brush of her nipples against the hair of his chest. His hands would slide down over her smooth back to cup the round cheeks of her bottom, then he would urge her legs apart with one knee, and ease his way inside her, planting his seed deep in her womb. Perhaps it would take right away and she would present him with a baby nine months hence.
Closing his eyes, Hugh imagined a small pink babe suckling at her breast, but the image was quickly replaced by himself suckling at her breast, her skin painted gold by the firelight, her shimmering hair winding and tangling around the two of them as they lay entwined, his hands on her hips, holding her in place as he drove himself into her -
"Enough!"
Wynekyn turned from his conversation with Lucan to peer at Hugh with surprise, startled by his outburst. "What is enough, my lord?"
Realizing that he'd spoken the word aloud, Hugh reached for his mug and downed a goodly quantity of ale. He had not meant to speak aloud, but... Damn, he'd waited long enough. Rising, he nodded determinedly at the men. "I am to bed."
He didn't wait to give Wynekyn the chance to protest again, or to suggest they follow any more traditions, such as a bedding ceremony. Hugh was damned if he was going to allow himself to be talked into that. Looking more like a man headed for battle than to bed, he strode to the stairs and jogged quickly up them. His expression dared anyone to interfere. He was ready for the bedding part of this marriage and he vowed no one was going to put him off. Hell, he'd been ready since the other day in the stable when the only thing that had stopped him was his inability to remove his armor. Why the devil did they make those things so bloody impossible for a man to remove alone, anyway? What about situations when there was no squire around to aid in the undressing?
He grimaced now at the thought. The first thing he'd done after Wynekyn had taken Willa above stairs was to send for his squire and a bath.
What a relief it had been to finally get out of that armor. Hugh was used to wearing it, but being stuck in it for three days and two nights straight had made him more than eager to shed it. Once the chain mail was off, he'd sent his squire away and had seen to the rest of his disrobing and the bath himself. He'd hoped to be able to get a look at whatever was causing him so much pain in the saddle. Unfortunately, its location had made that impossible. He still wasn't sure what the problem was, but the hot bath had seemed to ease the pain somewhat. That wasn't to say that he'd been comfortable sitting at the table for so long during the wedding celebration, but at least he'd managed to do so without grimacing or wincing in pain.