The Dumont Bride. Terri Brisbin
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Although the long, soft strokes of the brush through her hair usually calmed her, this night Emalie believed that nothing would. Alyce had even taken to watering her wine since dinner so she would gain no relief there, either. Now her heart pounded in her chest and she startled at every noise in the corridor outside her mother’s chamber door.
No. Not her mother’s. Now this was her suite of rooms.
Emalie could have moved into these chambers after her mother’s death and surely after her father’s, but somehow it had not seemed the right thing to do. She’d remained in the rooms where she’d grown up, where she’d been a daughter. Now she was a wife and belonged next to her husband. Eleanor’s servants accomplished the move with the swiftness and thoroughness expected of them and she now sat awaiting her husband’s arrival.
Husband.
They were truly married now, although her memory carried only glimpses of the ceremony and the Mass that had followed. Because this was being done as expeditiously as possible, most of those who swore their fealty to her and now to her husband were not present. Only those knights and women of her household were witnesses and they were not many in number.
Alyce’s slow and steady movements continued, but the desired effect did not happen. Emalie tried to remember saying the words that bound her to Christian, but the day was a blur in her mind. The only clear remembrance she had was of counting the links on the golden chain her father had given her on the last anniversary of her birth as she watched the men who had sworn to protect her turn over their allegiance to her husband, now the Earl of Harbridge. It had been her mother’s favorite and she wore it today as she did every day—to remind her of her parents and her duties to the people of Greystone. Duties that included giving up her people and soon her own self into his control, and hopefully into his care.
Emalie shook herself free of her reverie and thought about the duty to come this night. He would take her and make her his wife in all ways. And he would know her truth. The room darkened and began to close in around her. Try as she might, she could not catch her breath.
Alyce must have sensed the change in her, for she stopped what she was doing and draped a warm shawl over Emalie’s shoulders.
“There now, milady. All will be well.” Alyce clucked as she wrapped the length of wool tighter around her.
Emalie dared not look at her maid for fear of crying. Tears had threatened all day but now, wracked with worried anticipation over her coming wedding night, her eyes burned. Any reply was lost when the expected knock came on her door, but it was at the doorway that joined her room to her husband’s and not at the hallway, which she had expected. Emalie stood and faced it.
Eleanor entered her room, followed by Eleanor’s priest and then him…Christian Dumont. Eleanor walked across the room and took Emalie’s hands in her own and, with a nod, dismissed Alyce from the chamber. A soft look entered the queen’s eyes as she examined Emalie from her head to her toes, which were visible below the thin gown she wore.
“We are almost done, Emalie,” Eleanor whispered in a voice so low that no one else could hear.
Emalie curtsied slightly to her in response and lowered her gaze, waiting.
“Christian, your mother would be proud of you this day even as yours would be, Emalie.” Eleanor took Christian’s hands and encircled them around Emalie’s. “I am pleased to see two families who have been so important to me finally joined together in wedlock.” Eleanor sounded very pleased with herself over these arrangements, almost as though she had planned them for years. “Father, will you give them your blessing now?”
Emalie caught Christian’s gaze as he looked up, both startled by Eleanor’s actions. There should be a bedding ceremony and then the blessing. There should be witnesses so that no doubts of the validity of the marriage could be raised. Eleanor just smiled at them both and nodded at her priest, who raised his hand and made the sign of the cross before them.
Emalie did not hear the words he prayed. She could hear nothing but the beating of her heart as the moment she dreaded approached even more quickly. Soon there was quiet in the room and Emalie realized that Eleanor had dismissed even the priest now. Unable to move, she stood with her hands still clasped in Christian’s. He seemed as baffled by these proceedings as she.
“I informed those attending your wedding celebration that I would stand as witness to the bedding.” Eleanor looked from one to the other and nodded. “Now that Father has issued his blessing on your marriage and wedding night, I will retire.”
“Your Grace?” Emalie took a deep breath in and continued. “Should we? I mean…what is it you want us to do?”
Undressing before this man would be difficult enough, but with a witness? She had never attended a bedding before. She had only heard whispered tales of the undressing and examination that a newly married couple had to endure so that no objections to their physical suitability could be raised later. Eleanor gazed at her first and then at her new husband.
“Since there will be no repudiation of this marriage by either of you, I see no reason to do anything but wish you well and leave.”
Eleanor turned from them and walked to the door leading to the hallway, pausing with her hand on the latch before opening it. “And there will be no disavowal in the morning, will there? Christian? Emalie?” Not waiting for their responses, Eleanor pulled the door open and stepped into the hall. “I will be gone before you rise in the morn, so I will say my farewells now, my dears. Be kind to each other.”
And with those words, and after all her machinations, the dowager Queen of England, Duchess of Aquitaine and dowager Countess of Anjou left them alone. To begin their married life. Emalie shuddered at what her husband’s reaction would be when he found she was no longer a virgin. He watched her for a moment and then released her hands from his. She wondered what to do next.
“May I have some wine?” he asked in his native language.
“Of course, my lord. Would you sit while I pour some for you?” Emalie answered in the regional French he’d used. After pointing to a bench near the hearth, she filled a goblet for him and refilled her own and then carried them to him.
He accepted it from her with murmured thanks and sat down and stared into the fire for a few minutes. Not knowing what to do, Emalie stood at one end of the hearth, placed her goblet upon the mantel shelf and waited.
“So it was you who visited me while I bathed?” His voice broke the silence and she turned to face him.
“Yes, my lord. I brought you an herbal potion for your bath.”
“You have my thanks. ’Twas very soothing.” He stood and approached her. “But this is what I remember most.” She remained motionless as he reached out and lifted her hair from the edge of the shawl she clutched tightly around her. He slid his fingers through the length of it, gently, drawing it over her shoulders, and then looked into her eyes. His fingers grazed her neck and face, sending shivers through her. The breath she had finally found was lost once more as his hands touched and teased her shoulders and the tops of her breast.
She needed to warn him before this went any further. If he discovered that she had lost her virtue after he consummated their marriage, he might be angrier than being warned first. But the touch of his lips on hers drove any words or explanation she had planned right out of her mind. He moved his mouth over hers, stepping nearer still until he wrapped her in his embrace. His kiss was gentle, like the touch of his fingers on her skin, but persistent, and soon a wave of heat moved through her body until she felt sweat trickle down between her breasts.
Completely unexpected, this feeling of being held by him, of being kissed by him, undid her. She had tried to prepare herself to mate with him, to allow him his marital privileges, but never did she anticipate such a physical reaction from her own body.
’Twas not that she was without experience, although, other than a few kisses, she had no memory of what William had done. She only knew from Alyce that she would not feel a virgin’s pain