Bliss(21)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Hethe considered. There was a good possibility that if he put this off long enough, his wife’s smell might fade enough that it wouldn’t be such a chore to bed her. On the other hand, he could get in trouble with the king for lying if he was caught. Shifting impatiently, he shook his head. "I will tend to it once I return – "

"I am afraid that will not do," Templetun interrupted. "The king instructed me to see the marriage done, and I intend to do so. You will have to return to Holden with me. I left Lady Helen waiting there."

Hethe opened his mouth to argue, then merely shrugged. Arguing would not get him anywhere. He may as well just go back and do his duty so that he could quickly return here to the battle. "Oh, hell! When do we leave?"

Templetun’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Apparently, he had expected more of a fight. "Oh. Well… er…

Now?" he asked hopefully.

Hethe’s response was to turn and duck back out of his tent. "Edwin, bring my horse," he yelled, aware that Templetun followed right behind.

"I will just go see that my own horse is ready," the older man murmured, hurrying off. Hethe watched him go, then smiled at his squire as the young boy hurried up with his mount still saddled.

"Are Sir William and the others back yet?" he asked as he remounted. He had ridden ahead to get the wounded soldier to treatment as quickly as possible. William and the others had stayed behind to see if any of the other men sprawled on the battlefield still lived.

"Nay, my lord."

"Well, tell him when he gets back that I have gone back to Holden, and assure him I will return as soon as I can."

"Aye, my lord."

Nodding, Hethe settled in his seat and glanced around. Templetun was waiting impatiently for his horse to be saddled. Hethe took the opportunity to give a few more orders and instructions and to ask how the man he had brought back was doing, then urged his mount over to join the king’s man for the journey back to Holden.

Chapter Twelve

Hethe dismounted with great relief. It had been a long day, and Lord Templetun had managed to make it even longer. The man had spent the entire ride back to Holden lecturing him on his duty as a husband, as a servant to the king, and as a man. It appeared he had let all of mankind down by neglecting to bed his wife. He was a warrior. A man. A superior being. She was only a woman – less intelligent, a lesser being.

He mustn’t let the king down again.

Hethe had managed to keep from plowing his fist into the chaplain’s face only by a supreme act of will.

Now he ignored the man, dismounted and made his way into the keep, leaving Templetun to follow or not as he wished. Of course, he knew the man would follow. This time, Templetun surely wasn’t going to leave until he was wholly satisfied that the marriage was well and truly consummated.

The first person Hethe spotted as he entered his great hall was his second. A quick glance around showed that his bride was nowhere to be seen. If she had any sense, she was hiding, he decided as he crossed to the table.

"Hethe!" Stephen leapt to his feet, a smile of greeting covering his face. "I was beginning to worry that you would not return."

Hethe grimaced, then glanced irritably over his shoulder at his shadow – the king’s chaplain. "We had already joined the king’s men when Lord Templetun arrived. He had to wait until the day’s battle was done for our return."

"Ah." Stephen glanced from Hethe to the older man, then cleared his throat. "Lady Helen is in your chamber."

Hethe couldn’t help but notice the way the younger warrior avoided his eyes. It was obvious the man had noticed his wife’s odor. Hethe hadn’t expected any less.

"You should go up and – " Templetun began.

"My lord," Hethe interrupted irritably. "I do know my duty. Yet would it be possible for me to enjoy some wine first? It has been a long day."

Templetun hesitated, then gave in unhappily. "Very well. A drink first, my lord. But we really must get this finished up."

"We?" Hethe asked dryly. He doubted the man would be so anxious to see this accomplished were he the one having to do the do ing.

It was growing late, and Helen was pacing the master bedchamber when a disturbance drew her to the window. Peering outside, she heaved a long drawn-out sigh when she saw that Lord Templetun had returned with her husband. She had spent the afternoon biting her lip and peering sympathetically at Lord Holden’s second as the man bravely tried to keep her company while doing his best not to show how offensive was her smell. He had been incredibly grateful to be relieved of the duty when she had come up here, but it had left Helen with nothing to do but ponder what was to come. Which had quickly become a tiresome exercise. There was nothing to do to put off what was to come, and seemingly, nothing she could do to prepare for it.

Templetun had kept his word; Helen had been unable to persuade Stephen to allow her to do anything about her odiferous state, refusing even to send up a bath. The man had been apologetic, had explained in pained tones that he wished he could – which she didn’t doubt at all since he had had to suffer her stench – but, he had explained, Templetun had ordered him to supply nothing but food and drink and to watch while she consumed it. A bath was out of the question.

In the end, Helen had asked to be shown to the master’s bedchamber so that she might look around.

That request had, at least, been allowed, but not before Stephen had examined the room. Presumably to be sure there was nothing inside that might go against Templetun’s orders. She had spent the rest of her time alone in this room, and she was not terribly impressed with what she found.

Hethe’s chambers were large, and they had obviously once been opulent, but everything in the bedchamber was now old, threadbare and screaming of neglect. It seemed very obvious to her that Hethe did not spend much time here. Indeed, poking about revealed that there was not one of the man’s personal items in the room.

With nothing else to do but worry about what was to come, and fret over the fact that she was unable to make herself presentable enough that Hethe might be gentle with her, Helen had decided she would do better to lay down for a rest. She had laid on his large bed, wide awake and anxious until a servant came to ask if she wished to go below for the sup, or would wish a tray brought to her.

Helen had chosen the tray. It would have been nice to have company to distract her from her fretting, but she had not been willing to inflict herself on Lord Holden’s second or the rest of his people, and so she had eaten by herself. Well, really she had been too nervous to eat, had merely pushed the food around. Then she’d spent the rest of her time pacing and waiting. Now, she grimaced at the sight of her husband dismounting below. It was time.

For a moment, she was overwhelmed by panic. She actually even peered around wildly, looking for someplace to hide or a way to escape. Then she realized there was nowhere to run, and she forced herself to calm down and stop acting like a ninny.

She was a grown-up woman. This was nothing of which to be so frightened. Every woman went through this. At least, every woman who married. Although she supposed they needed not fear it being quite as unpleasant as it was likely to be for her, especially since she had angered her husband repeatedly. That, along with her stench, would probably see her with a painful, ungreased pig. But, then, she had brought it on herself, and it would have all been over by now if she had not tried to put off her wedding night. It seemed that she had brought a lot down on herself lately.

If she was the superstitious sort, she might think that someone had cursed her. If she believed God was the cruel, punishing deity of Lord Templetun’s beliefs, she might believe he really was punishing her for her disobedience. But Helen knew that this was just pure and simple bad luck. She also believed she could do with some good luck about now, and perhaps it was time to start making her own. Her aunt and Ducky’s advice that morning came to mind.

Be "amenable" and "try to encourage some gentler feeling" in the man, her aunt had suggested. "Get nak*d and jiggle," had been Ducky’s advice. Helen considered the matter briefly. She didn’t think that she could manage the getting nak*d part, at least not fully. But she could be amenable and encouraging.

Hethe mounted the stairs, growing angrier with every step he took. Lord Templetun had "allowed" him one drink, and one drink only, then had sent him up to bed like a child. Hethe was not used to being ordered about so, and appreciated it even less in this instance. Of course, this was all Lady Helen’s fault.

If she had not gone yapping to the king’s man – hell, if she hadn’t gone and pulled that ridiculous stunt with the stinkweed – they would not be in this fix! Now, he was expected to make his way to his room and plow a field that reeked like a graveyard. Aye, he was a poorly done-by man. What great sin had he ever committed to deserve this?

Reaching his bedchamber door, he paused and briefly glared at it. Beyond that strip of wood waited a woman whose scent could curl a man’s hair. And whose body could curl a man’s toes, some part of him reminded. Hethe considered that thought briefly, his mind returning to the various sights he had been shown of that body. Aye, Lady Helen was a fine figure of a woman. And she had a face lovely enough to stir any man’s soul. Perhaps he could find a way to overcome the smell… It would not last forever.

On that cheerful note, he opened the door and strode into the master bedchamber. He used the room very rarely on those rare occasions that he was at Holden, but he knew what it contained. Still, this time, he wasn’t sure what to expect. A snarling and angry bride, perhaps? Or an anxious and nervous one as Nerissa had been? What he surely did not expect to find was a woman sitting nak*d before the fire, brushing her hair with long, serene strokes.

Well, she wasn’t really nak*d; she still wore her chemise. But the scrap of clothing was extremely thin, and the way she was positioned before the fire made it so that he could see entirely through the fabric to the lush curves beneath.

For a moment, Hethe was enchanted; then he pushed the door closed and started forward – only to be forcefully reminded that she did not wish to be his bride by the familiar and foul perfume wafting across the room.

That was when he realized the whole situation was surely part of some new trick, some new plan to bedevil him. His disappointment at the realization was keen. Pausing, he glanced around the room warily, but he could find nothing amiss. Everything looked as it always did when he stayed here – except for her, of course.

"What new game is this?" he asked, moving back to lounge against the door. He could still smell her from there, but his desire to gag wasn’t as strong.

Pausing in her hair-brushing, she turned slowly to peer at him, and he could have sworn that the uncertain expression on her face was sincere. " ‘Tis no game, my lord. No more tricks or plots. It would appear there is no way out of this marriage, so I thought to make it easier."

Setting the brush down, his wife stood slowly and turned to face him, the fire backlighting her so that her face and front were in shadow, but her body was outlined beneath the thin gown she wore. Hethe felt his body stir with interest as he peered at her and nearly sighed with relief. Perhaps they could get this consummation done after all. The question was, how?

With Wee Hethe showing interest, it was quite possible that he could just order her on the bed, rush over, whip up her chemise, pull himself out and thrust into her. He imagined he could hold his breath that long. That would see the deed done, but Hethe had never used a woman so brutally, and despite all she had done to him since their meeting, he could not treat her so. On the other hand, preparing her properly for this, her first time, would take time and finesse, and he suspected Wee Hethe would not stand up to the endeavor. Which left him in a bit of a conundrum.

Grimacing, he shifted from one foot to the other and glanced around the room, pondering the best solution.

"Shall I help you remove your armor?"

Hethe gave a start at the quiet question, and glanced at his wife sharply, then down at the mail he still wore. It was dirty and bloody, and he really should have removed it before coming above, but he had been so upset he had forgotten all about it. "Nay!" He nearly shrieked when she started to move toward him, then softened his voice to add, "J-just go lie down and wait. I shall tend to it myself."

Nodding, she moved to the end of the bed, then hesitated. As she was no longer cast in shadow by the fire, he could see the extent of her rash. In truth, while it was not as angry as it had been the night before, it still looked painful and slightly blotchy. He could overlook the blotches he decided, though he had to wonder if it hurt. He did not wish his touch to pain her. Caught up by such concerns, he was completely taken by surprise when she began to remove her chemise. That was unexpected; he had not thought her to be so brazen.

The blush that followed the trail of the gown told him she was not quite as brazen as the action suggested. Still, it had been a brilliant move on her part. Wee Hethe had been stirring lazily, but it now sprang to immediate life. Aye, they just might get this done, he decided as she turned and sat on the end of the bed, then lay back on it, her legs still draped off the edge of the mattress, her body supine.

All he had to do was step up to the bed, move between her legs and –

He stopped that thought right there. He could not just plow into her like some rutting dog; he would have to prepare her first. Annoyed with himself, he set to work at removing his sword belt, then his mail hauberk. Hethe usually had his squire to help with such tasks, so was surprised at how heavy the metal tunic was. Grunting as he tugged and pulled and pushed and wriggled his way out of it, he decided that, in future, he would be sure the boy was around to help.

"Are you sure you would not like me to assist you with that?"

"Nay, stay there," Hethe said quickly, sighing in relief as he finally finished pulling the heavy armor off.

Straightening, he gave his wife a triumphant grin and let the mail shirt drop to the floor, wincing at the clatter it made. The sight of Lady Helen, pushing herself up on her elbows and smiling uncertainly back, made Hethe swallow. Damn, but she was a beautiful picture, despite her blotchy skin.