Bliss(13)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Nay, this was a silent and private war, and he intended to keep it that way. Which was the reason for the garlic. He didn’t trust the little witch not to ignore the contract and continue with her dragon-breath tactics. She was trying to avoid marriage to him, after all, and surely she would see that breaking the contract would be grounds to end it. His own breath freshening was simply insurance against such an occurrence.

Hethe smiled to himself as he swallowed the pungent mess. He had no idea what else she’d inflicted on herself to make the stench that assaulted him every time they met, but the garlic really was the worst of it.

Which his own would cancel out.

"Let us go below. She should be ready soon," he said to his friend. He had finished changing into his freshest tunic and leggings while awaiting the man’s return with the garlic. Now he reached the door and glanced back at William only to find him staring around the room with distaste.

"You have no coverings on your window."

Hethe shrugged at the observation. "They are being cleaned at the moment."

"But ’tis drafty in here. You should have had a fire built up. And really, Hethe, this room is half the size of mine. Even Templetun’s room is – "

"Aye, but this was only meant for one night. We did not expect the delay in the ceremony. Lady Helen thought it best that I sleep in here for one night than for you be stuck in here for one night, then moved to a more comfortable room later. I agreed," he lied through clenched teeth. "Come, or I shall be late for my own wedding."

"Aye." William moved toward him, but he did not look pleased. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? Lovely she may be, but she is still the Tyrant of Tiernay.’ "

Hethe grimaced at the name. She was a little tyrant, too. A sneaky little tyrant. A beautiful, sneaky little tyrant with a sweet voice, enchanting smile, and quite the most delectable little body he had seen in ages.

Clearing his throat, he pushed those thoughts away. "I am a lord with some power, William. Still, I will not refuse a direct order from the king without a very good cause."

"Aye, but if you told him how she has harassed and insulted you over the years – "

"He knows," Hethe reminded him quietly. "I dictated enough messages to you informing him of that."

"Oh, aye." William scowled. "Of course."

"Come." Hethe slapped him on the shoulder affectionately and steered him out of the room. "Have a little faith in me. I am your liege and a warrior. I can manage one little wife, don’t you think?"

"I suppose," William said doubtfully. Hethe grimaced at the lack of confidence his man showed in him.

Unfortunately, he himself had some doubts as well. The wench had proven herself to be quite clever. And there was nothing more dangerous than a clever woman.

Chapter Eight

"You may kiss the bride."

Frozen in place, Helen watched unhappily as her new husband turned to bestow upon her the bridal kiss. This was the worst day of her life. She was sure of it.

She stood stiff and unresponsive as his mouth closed over hers, expecting a quick peck. She got much more. His lips brushed hers lightly; then his tongue slid out to lave her mouth, startling her lips into parting.

Immediately, his tongue swept in, and Helen’s eyes widened abruptly at the pungent taste that assaulted her.

"You!" she gasped accusingly, pulling back. The man had the nerve to give her a slow, satisfied smile.

"Fire with fire," he murmured, to the confusion of those near enough to hear him. Then, leaning forward, he put a finger to her chin and pushed it upward, closing her mouth so that he could brush it again lightly with his own in a more proper kiss. Straightening, he turned back to face the priest and finish the ceremony.

Helen did not turn. She simply stood staring at the monster beside her. She had seen the look of victory shining in his eyes. He was getting what he wanted. He wanted this wedding. The realization sank in slowly and painfully. She had been fighting this battle assuming that he would not care either way, that he merely needed to be shown how unpleasant this marriage could be. But nothing was going as she had planned. First, he’d claimed to love all that she had created for him to hate; then he’d turned the tables on her at that picnic, then she had fallen in the river rather than he, and now he had turned her own weapon back on her. Garlic! she thought angrily. I should have had a backup plan , she realized. Something in case the first plan did not work. Poison in his porridge, perhaps, or a knife in his heart.

Or, she realized suddenly, I should have thought out more thoroughly why he had not promptly refused the wedding . She had not exactly endeared herself to the man with her complaints to the king over the years, surely. Why had he not refused outright? Why had he come here entirely ready to carry out the wedding?

The answer to that was so simple and obvious, Helen nearly groaned aloud. Tiernay, of course. She had forgotten how rich and prosperous the fiefdom was, how attractive it would be to him. Helen herself was just small part of what he gained through this marriage. Tiernay was the prize. And one well worth having.

Suddenly, she realized where she had gone wrong. It was Tiernay she should have made appear as unattractive as possible. It was Tiernay she should have made smell and painted black.

For a moment, she was terribly excited at the realization, but then she realized that it was too late in coming. Or was it? Could she still delay the consummation of the marriage? Could she still find a method to escape? She had to!

She spent the celebration that followed in a tizzy, her mind racing about like a crazed mouse. She had to do something. She had to think of a way to put him off long enough for her to make Tiernay unattractive.

Something he could not combat. Around her, the festivities continued. There was much toasting and cheering. Much ribald teasing and laughter. But she was oblivious to the lot.

It was not until the last course of the feast that inspiration finally came to her. Standing abruptly, Helen ignored her new husband’s startled and questioning glance and hurried toward the kitchens. As she had expected, Ducky was there.

Hethe rubbed his stomach absently and watched his new bride disappear into the kitchens, a sense of foreboding overtaking him. His gaze slid to her aunt to find the woman looking after her niece with a concerned expression. He had a feeling it was not a good thing. He had been aware of his new wife’s silence throughout the meal. She had not touched a single bite of the food set before her. He had almost been able to see her mind working over the problem of his having combated her bad breath with some oral stench of his own. And it had worked. At least, he assumed it worked. With his own mouth garlic-drenched, he had not really been able to tell if she had flouted the directives of their contract and chomped on the stuff herself. It mattered little, he supposed. What mattered now was that with the garlic filling his own breath, hers had not been the least offensive. For a moment, before she had pulled away, he had found himself enjoying that kiss more than he expected. The wedding night would not be a trial for him.

In fact, now that the problem of her offensive breath was out of the way, he was anticipating the coming night with great hopes.

The opening of the kitchen door drew Hethe from his thoughts, and he watched curiously as his new bride returned to the table. She looked slightly anxious and distracted, he noted with a frown, and he arched an eyebrow as she reclaimed her seat. If she saw his questioning look, she ignored it, merely picking up the quail drumstick in her trencher to handle it with an obvious lack of interest.

"Is the food not to your liking?" he asked solicitously, knowing that was not the problem, but unable to keep from teasing her a bit after the torments she had put him through. Not to mention for what he had been forced to do to combat it. Eating the garlic, himself for instance. It was a terribly clever idea, but now his stomach was roiling rather ominously. He would have liked to blame it on the meal he had just eaten, but as per the contract, he and his wife were eating out of the same trencher. As he had hoped, that had greatly improved the flavor of his meal. Dinner was delicious. It was certainly not the cause of his stomach upset. The garlic he had consumed was wholly to blame for that. It didn’t seem to be sitting well with him, and he had been burping it up ever since.

"Nay," Helen at last answered, managing to produce for him a somewhat stiff smile. "I mean, aye. It is quite good. I just find I am not very hungry."

"Ah. Too excited for the night ahead," he suggested, a smile coming to his face. He nearly burst out laughing at her reaction to his gibe. The woman blanched, her expression twisting into one of incredulous annoyance before she seemed to realize what she was doing. Forcing a smile that held only a tinge of sarcasm, she spoke dryly.

"Aye. That must be it," she muttered, then glanced to the side where her maid had suddenly appeared.

Hethe watched curiously as the woman leaned down to whisper something in her mistress’s ear, then the woman rushed off toward the stairs, and Helen turned to beam at him.

Hethe blinked. His wife was absolutely lovely. A beautiful creature. He had been so distracted of late, he had quite forgotten that.

"Yes, husband. In fact, I am so excited I think I shall go above stairs now and spend a little extra time preparing for you. Will you excuse me?"

"Aye," Hethe murmured, helpless to keep from smiling in return. Helen was such a lovely thing – eyes sparkling, lips curving, just for him! He watched her stand, gesture for her aunt to follow her, then hurry off toward the stairs. His gaze dropped, and he watched her h*ps sway as she walked away.

"Where are they off to?" Lord Templetun asked in a curious voice.

"Hmm?" Hethe tore his gaze away from his retreating bride reluctantly.

"Lady Helen and her aunt," the man repeated. "Where are they going?"

"Oh. They are going off to prepare for the bedding." Various images flashed through his head as he heard his own words. He pictured Helen stepping nak*d into a tub of water with rose petals floating on its surface.

"Already?"

Templetun’s question startled Hethe back to reality. He glanced blankly at the old man, then around the room. The meal was not yet even over. Most people were only half done. The feast had been arranged to follow hard on the heels of the wedding, so it was still extremely early. Too early for the bedding, or preparing for it. Suddenly the picture that had risen to his mind’s eye a moment before returned. This time, however, instead of stepping into a tub of warm water with rose petals, his wife was stepping into a tub with large brown things floating in it. If he concentrated hard, Hethe could tell they were cow patties.

"Sweet Jesu!" He popped up from the bench as if a spring were under his arse, but before he could move away, Templetun caught his arm and pulled him back.

"Now, now, there is no use in being overeager. It may be early for the bedding, but if she wishes to prepare herself special for you, you should let her. Now that I think on it, it is rather marvelous the way she has resigned herself to this union. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but when I first came with the king’s order that the two of you were to marry… Well, let’s just say she was not the most eager of brides," he confided with some amusement. He added, "In fact, by the time I left for Holden to collect you, I feared I might very well have a war on my hands."

Hethe groaned in response. Had no one else yet become aware of the silent war that had been taking place since his arrival? No, of course not. She had never breathed her putrid breath on them, and neither Templetun nor William had had to suffer the cold, the scalding or the fleas. And Hethe had not told them of the incidences, either, his pride would not let him.

"Now, now." Taking his groan the wrong way, Templetun patted him on the back encouragingly. "As you can see, she got over it quite quickly. It was most likely simply nerves. She is obviously quite pleased with the situation now. Look how she’s preparing."

Hethe’s only response was to loose another moan and drop his head on the table in despair, barely missing his trencher. His mind was filling with a variety of ways that she could be preparing right that moment. Not one of them was good.

"Ugh! Oh, Gawd! Oh, this is just horrible… Oh!"

"Aye," Aunt Nell agreed from her position near the door – a safe distance from her niece and poor Ducky who was helping.

"Oooooh… I cannot – This is – It is good I did not eat, else I would surely be tossing it up right now."

Helen muttered with vexation, then groaned and sighed before crying out, "Oh, God! ‘Tis unbearable!"

"Aye. ‘Tis," Ducky agreed, her nose wrinkling with distaste under the strip of linen she had tied around her face to cover her nose. However, catching the tears sparkling in Helen’s eyes, she decided a bit of encouragement was needed. "But that is all to the good. It means this plan of yours should work. I mean, he’ll not touch you when you’re like this. Of course," she added a bit worriedly, "now that the wedding is over, there’s no telling how he’ll react. What if he beats you, or – " She paused, her concern fading abruptly to be replaced by a sly smile. "Nay. He’ll not wish to get close enough to beat you."

Helen’s answer was another groan. She did not wish to be close to herself just now. This was just awful, the best and worst idea she had ever had.

A knock at the door made all three women freeze, their gazes clashing. It wasn’t until the second knock that anyone moved.

Dropping to her haunches, Helen instinctively huddled behind the bed, then peered over it to hiss at Ducky, "See who it is. But do not let them in."

When the maid nodded, Helen dropped a little lower, taking the opportunity to peel and pop into her mouth one of the cloves of garlic Ducky had smuggled in earlier without her aunt seeing. The contract be damned, he had consumed garlic, and she would not be caught again without it. She glanced over the side of the bed as she chewed to see that Ducky had reached the door. The maid hesitated as Aunt Nell shifted to one side to be out of the way, then opened the door the barest crack to peer out. Helen heard the low murmur of a man’s voice, then Ducky’s higher response. The maid had barely answered before she shut the door with a snap and whirled.