"It would seem you were never truly meant to take the veil."
"Oh, but I was," Rosamunde assured her. "My mother wished it so. She told the abbess. And my father never arranged a betrothal. I was born to be a nun."
"It would seem not," Eustice corrected gently.
"But what if the Lord wants me to take the veil? What if he is angered that I am not to be one?"
"'Tis more likely the good Lord has his own plans for you, Rosamunde. Else He would have stopped your father from arriving until after it was done. Would He not?"
Frowning, Rosamunde tilted her head to consider that. Sister Eustice continued, "It seems to me that it must have been God Himself who led your father here in time to prevent the ceremony. Were your father even a day later in arriving, the ceremony would have been done by now."
"Aye," Rosamunde murmured uncertainly. "But why would God wish me to marry when there is so much good I might do as a nun?"
"Mayhap He has something more important for you to do as a wife."
"Mayhap," she murmured, but it was obvious by her tone that she was having trouble fathoming that possibility.
Sighing to herself, Eustice urged her into moving along the hall again, managing to get her to the small cell that had been Rosamunde's room since childhood. Ushering the bemused girl inside, Eustice urged her to sit on the side of her tiny, hard bed, then turned to search through the girl's small clothes chest for the dress Rosamunde had made to wear while taking the veil the next day. Coming up empty-handed, she whirled to frown at Rosamunde. "Where is your white gown?"
Rosamunde glanced up distractedly. "White gown? Oh, Sister Margaret offered to hang it for me, to let out any wrinkles."
"Ah." Nodding, Eustice turned toward the door. "Wait here. I shall return directly."
Rosamunde watched the door close behind her friend and mentor, then sank back on the bed with a sigh. She was having difficulty absorbing what was happening. Just that morning, her life had been fixed, her path a comfortable, secure one. Now events had careened out of control, changing the course of her life, and she was not sure it was in a direction in which she wished to go. It looked as though she had little choice, however. Her father's decisions were final.
So she would be married, to a man she had never met before, a man she had gotten only a fleeting glimpse of moments ago when her father had introduced them. She should have looked at him longer, but had found herself suddenly shy. It was a new sensation for her. But then she had had very little occasion to be in the presence of men during her life. The only men she had ever even met were her father; his servant and constant companion, Bishop Shrewsbury; and Father Abernott, the priest who ministered the Sunday mass at the abbey. The reverend mother said mass the rest of the week.
She had known a stable boy, several years before. But he had not been around long. A week, perhaps; then he had cornered her in a stall, and pressed his lips against hers. Too startled to react at first, Rosamunde had just stood there. By the time she had gotten over her surprise, curiosity and the beginnings of a sort of shivery pleasure had kept her from protesting. Much to her shame, she hadn't even stopped him when he had covered one of her budding breasts with his hand.
Rosamunde had considered stopping him, knowing that anything that felt so wickedly interesting had to be a sin; everything fun did seem to be sinful, according to the sisters. But she did not know if she would have stopped him on her own, for Eustice had come upon them. One minute she had been wrapped in the lad's enthusiastic embrace, and the next he'd been dragged away and was having his ears boxed. Eustice had then dragged Rosamunde off to lecture her: she must never let a man kiss and touch her so again. It was evil. Lips were for speaking, and breasts for milking--and that was that.
The abbess had sent the stable boy away that very day.
"She did not look pleased at the news of her upcoming marriage," Robert murmured.
Shifting on the bench seat where the nuns had seated the men to eat while they waited, Aric turned his gaze from the food he was unable to choke down--despite how delicious it looked--and peered at his friend. "Nay," he agreed dismally.
"Well, mayhap 'tis just a result of surprise."
Aric grunted with little conviction.
"She is quite lovely."
Aric grunted again. He looked far from cheered by the news, and Robert sighed.
"Surely you do not fear she will be unfaithful? This girl was raised in a convent, man. She could not have learned the lying, cheating ways of a woman raised at court."
Aric was silent for a moment, then shifted his position at the table and murmured, "Do you recall my cousin, Clothilde?"
"Clothilde?" He thought briefly, then laughed. "Oh, aye. The girl whose mother would not allow her sweets, lest she grow in size, or lose all her teeth ere she married."
Aric grimaced. "Not a single sweet passed her lips ere her marriage, but they had a great tray of them at her wedding feast."
"Aye." Robert laughed again as he recalled the event. "She quite liked sweets once she tried them. As I recall, she nearly ate the whole tray all on her own."
"She still likes them. Perhaps more so because she was deprived of them for so long. In the two years since her marriage, she has grown to six times her original size. She has lost three teeth at last count."
Robert winced. "Do not tell me you fear your wife will grow overlarge and lose her teeth?"
Aric rolled his eyes, then sighed. "What is missing in a convent?"
"Well, I realize they can be strict in these places, but I am sure they have an occasional sweet or--"
"Forget the blasted sweets!" Aric snapped. "Men. Men are missing in convents."
"Aye, well, but that is the very reason behind their existence and--Oh!" A chagrined look on his face, he shook his head. "I think I see. You fear that having been deprived of the company of men all these years, your wife soon will find herself overly fond of their company."
Aric muttered under his breath and turned away with mild disgust at the length of time it had taken to get his point across. Surely his friend had not always been so dense?
"Aric. Friend. Do not allow Delia's behavior to color your views. She was raised by her uncle, Lord Stratham, the most notorious reprobate in the land."
"Yet my mother was not."
"Ah." Robert sighed.
"She was raised most strictly."
"Yes, but--"
"And she could not contain her passions."
Robert shook his head. "I can see you will not be easily reassured, but 'tis not as bad as all that. If you fear she will become overfond of the company of men, you merely have to keep her away from court. Keep her in the country, where the only men she may meet are peasants and serfs. Surely she was brought up with enough sense not to dally with one of them." He clapped his friend on the back encouragingly.
"Oh, aye. The king would most likely be very pleased should he never see his daughter again," Aric muttered. Robert frowned.
"Oh, there is that. He will most likely wish her at court on occasion."
"Most likely," Aric agreed dryly.
"He appears to hold great affection for her." Robert's frown deepened as he thought on that. "That could be a problem, could it not? Jesu! A king for a father-in-law," he marveled in horror as he realized the full significance of it. "Should you not make her happy, he might have you drawn and quartered. What a spot to be in!"
"Robert."
"Aye?"
"Stop trying to make me feel better."
Rosamunde's fretting ended abruptly at the opening of the door. Sighing, she pushed herself to a sitting position as Sister Eustice reentered with the gown she had fetched lying carefully over her arm.
"The creases are all gone, fortunately enough," the nun informed her and started to push the cell door closed, but paused when the abbess's voice sounded in the hallway. By the time Adela arrived at the door, both Rosamunde and Eustice were waiting curiously. Adela took one look at Rosamunde's expr
ession and hurried forward.
"Oh, my dear child," she murmured soothingly, seating herself on the cot beside the girl. She embraced her briefly. "All will be well. You will see. God has a special path for you to follow and you must trust in him."
"Aye, 'tis what Sister Eustice said," Rosamunde whispered as tears welled in her eyes. Oddly enough, the small droplets of liquid had not threatened until the very moment that the abbess offered comfort. It had always been that way. While both Eustice and the abbess had taken the place of her mother on that beautiful woman's death, it was the abbess to whom Rosamunde had turned to bandage her banged-up knees and soothe her hurts. And it never failed that Rosamunde could stand absolutely anything with a stiff upper lip and grim smile until the abbess came around; at the first sight of Adela's kind face, though, she always broke down.
"Oh, now. Shh, my child. Do not cry. You must have faith in the Lord. He chose this path for you. Surely there is a reason."
"I am not crying out of fear of what is to come. Well..." she corrected honestly, "mostly I am not. Mostly I am crying for what is ending."
Bewildered, the abbess shook her head slightly. "What is ending?"
"I will have to leave you all, the only family I have ever known. Aside from my father," she added loyally.
Eustice and Adela shared a dismayed look, their own eyes filling with tears at the realization. They had been too distracted to consider that truth.
"Well..." Sister Eustice glanced desperately around, everywhere but at the young woman who had been her student in the stables since being a small child--young Rosamunde had latched onto Eustice's voluminous skirts and trailed after her the moment she had gained her feet and been able to walk. The nun had taught her everything she knew, and the look on Eustice's face conveyed her misery at their separation.
"Aye," Adela murmured unhappily, her own watery gaze on the floor. She had been taken with Rosamunde from her birth. The baby's red curls and sweet smile had melted her heart as nothing else ever had. Contrary to tradition, she herself had overseen the girl's lessons in the schoolroom. She had spent hour after hour feeding the child's expanding mind, encouraging patience, and curbing the temper that seemed always to come with redheads. The rewards for her effort had been great. Rosamunde was everything she had ever wanted in a daughter. With a grimace of pain, the abbess rose to her feet.
"Every bird must leave the nest one day," she said practically. She moved to the door, only to pause and glance back uncertainly. "I never thought you would leave us, Rosamunde. I was not warned." Adela sighed unhappily. "Thinking you would not need the knowledge, there was much I neglected to teach you about marriage and the marital bed."
"The marital bed?" Rosamunde frowned worriedly as she noted the sudden stain of embarrassment on the older woman's cheeks.
The abbess stared at her, at a loss for a moment, then turned abruptly away. "Sister Eustice shall enlighten you," she said abruptly. She started to slip out of the room, then paused to add, "But quickly, sister. The king is most impatient to have this business done."
The door closed, leaving Eustice staring at it in stupefaction.
Chapter Two
"The marital bed."
Rosamunde turned her gaze from the closed door to Eustice at the other woman's firm words. The sister had drawn up her shoulders, her expression full of purpose, Before she could continue, though, Rosamunde asked, "Shall I dress while you explain?"
Eustice blinked at the interruption, then sighed and nodded. "Aye. Your father appears to be in something of a hurry. Mayhap that would be for the best."
Slipping off the bed, Rosamunde quickly removed the breeches she had been wearing to work in the stables. Eustice immediately took them from her and began to fold them neatly as she began again. "The marital bed may be unpleasant, but it is your sacred duty as a wife."
"Unpleasant?" Rosamunde paused in undoing the laces of her tunic. She eyed the other woman with dismay. "How unpleasant?"
Eustice made a face. "Quite, from what I gather. My mother used to stay abed at least half a day after my father exerted his husbandly rights," she confided.
Rosamunde's eyes grew round at this news. "It must be very draining, then."
"Oh, aye," Eustice agreed with a firm nod. "And noisy."
"Noisy?" Rosamunde sank to sit on the bed again.
"You are supposed to be changing," the nun reminded her. Rosamunde stood again and began to fuss with the laces of her top. Sister Eustice admitted. "When I was a child, my sister and I listened outside our parents' bedchamber one night." She flushed at Rosamunde's arched eyebrows, and shrugged. "I was a naughty child, forever getting into mischief. Not unlike someone else I know," she added pointedly, making Rosamunde grin. "Anyway, we listened and..."
"And?" Rosamunde prompted.
Eustice scowled at her. "Continue to change," she instructed. She was silent until Rosamunde began to drag her tunic up over her head, then she continued. "And they made all sorts of racket. The bed ropes were squeaking, and my parents were moaning, groaning, and screaming."
Dragging her top off over her head, Rosamunde gaped at her. "Screaming?"
"Aye." Eustice grimaced.
"Are you sure it was the bedding? Mayhap they were doing something else."
Eustice considered that briefly, then shook her head. "Nay. I told you, the bed ropes were squeaking."
Rosamunde began to crumple the shirt she held distractedly as she pondered her friend's words. She took some water from a basin in the corner of the room and gave herself a quick wash.
"Here." Eustice lifted and held out the white gown.
Rosamunde traded the top for the gown, which she immediately began to pull over her head. Pushing her hands into its sleeves, she tugged the gown down over her hips and tugged until it lay straight. She set to work at the laces.
Glancing up from folding Rosamunde's top, Eustice frowned at the sight of her and set it aside to grab a brush. Moving behind Rosamunde, she brushed the girl's hair into a glossy cloud that lay somewhat tamely about her shoulders. Then she set the brush aside and urged the girl toward the door. "We had better hurry. Your father was nearly foaming at the mouth with impatience."
"But you haven't told me--"
"I will on the way," Eustice assured her as she dragged the door open. Ushering her out into the hall, she pulled the door closed, then heaved a sigh and escorted her down the hall. "As I told you, marital relations are unpleasant, but they are your duty now. But there are times when it is not allowed. For instance, while a woman is--" Pausing abruptly, she turned wide eyes on Rosamunde. "It is not your woman's time, is it?"
"Nay," Rosamunde murmured, unable to contain a blush. Such things were never discussed.
"Good." Eustice smiled her relief. "That would be a fly in the king's ointment. Consummation would be forbidden if you were."
"Ah," Rosamunde murmured with a solemn nod, a little baffled, but anxious to have the sister get off that subject and move on.
"It is also forbidden while pregnant or nursing, of course."
"Of course," Rosamunde murmured, gamely.
"Also during Lent, Advent, Whitsuntide, and Easter week."
"Mm-hmm." Rosamunde nodded.
"Also on feast days, fast days, Sundays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays."
"So, 'tis allowed only on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays?" Rosamunde asked with a frown.
"Aye. Thank goodness today is Tuesday."
"Yes, thank goodness," Rosamunde said with a grimace.
If Eustice heard the sarcasm, she chose to ignore it, merely continuing with her list. "It is forbidden during daylight, while unclothed, or in a church, of course."
"Of course," Rosamunde agreed quietly. That would surely be sacrilege!
It is only to be performed in an effort to gain a child, and then it is to be performed only once. You should not enjoy it. You must wash afterward. And you should not partake of any fondling, lewd kisses, or--"
"What
exactly is that?" Rosamunde interrupted, and Eustice glanced at her impatiently, her footsteps slowing.
"You know very well what kissing is, Rosamunde! I caught you at it with the stable boy when you--"
"I meant the fondling," Rosamunde interrupted, annoyed to find herself flushing guiltily at the memory of the incident with the stable boy.
"Oh, well." Eustice scowled. "It is touching...anything. Including breasts. Lips are for speaking and breasts for milking--and that is that," the nun said firmly. She sighed, her eyes shifting upward. "Now, what else...? Oh, aye, you must refrain from any of the unnatural acts."
"Unnatural acts?" Rosamunde asked uncertainly.
Eustice grimaced. "Simply do not put your mouth on any part of him, or let him put his mouth on any part of you. Especially parts covered by your clothes."
Rosamunde's eyes widened, and Eustice made a knowing face.
"It is not proper."
"I see," Rosamunde murmured, then raised her eyebrows. "But why must I not let him do so? I mean, if men are morally superior--as Father Abernott is constantly reminding us--surely he already will know all this?"
Eustice nodded at that. "True. No doubt he does know all this. I am telling you so that you do not make mistakes. Now, here we are," she pointed out, drawing to a halt at the doors to the chapel. She turned to Rosamunde. "Do you have any questions?"
"Aye."
"Oh." The sister didn't bother to hide her unease, but raised her eyebrows in question. "What is it?"
"Well..." Rosamunde swallowed. "All you have told me are things I must not do. I am still not quite clear on what exactly does occur."
"Oh, of course." Eustice paused and considered the easiest way to explain it, then shrugged. "You have seen the animals from the stables when they are in season."
It was not a question, but Rosamunde nodded anyway.
"Well, 'tis the same thing."
"It is the same?" Rosamunde asked with distaste. Her mind flooded with various pictures of different beasts mating. Cats, dogs, goats, sheep, cows, and horses suddenly filled her mind, a veritable orgy of stable animals.
"Aye. Now you see why it is so distasteful to ladies," Eustice said heavily.
Rosamunde nodded in wide-eyed agreement, then asked, "Will he bite the back of my neck?"
Eustice blinked. "Bite?"