The Duke's Pawn

Chapter 12: Eight Times Over

Her pillow was unusually hard and warm, and it kept moving, in a slight, soothing up and down motion. It was weird, but nice. Alienor snuggled deeper into the comforting heat, and stretched her arm across the source of it. Her eyes shot open when she was hugged in return. There was nothing to see, only pitch black darkness. Her sleep-addled brain started to panic and she struggled to extract herself from the limbs restraining her.

"Alienor, what is wrong? Are you having a nightmare?"

This voice, she knew this voice. Richard. Her husband. How could he be in her bed, in the middle of the night? The last thing she remembered was leaving the Hall with a throng of ladies, and getting ready for them to escort her to the nuptial chamber. Nothing made sense and her thoughts were muddled. "What happened? Where is the Duke? When did I fall asleep? Did we..." The soreness between her legs answered her last question. It wasn't terrible, certainly no worse than some of the bruises she had sustained in sparring, but it was quite noticeable. It must have hurt, and yet she remembered nothing. Mayhap this was a strange dream and she was going to wake up. Mayhap...

"I'm sorry, Alienor. I had to protect you. The Duke's spite was intended for me, and me alone. I didn't want you to suffer from something that wasn't of your doing. Pray forgive me..."

Alienor shook her head. What did he mean? He never wronged her. "I don't understand. What is there for me to forgive?"

Richard stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. "I drugged you. Dried poppy juice is very efficient; it sends you still awake into a world of dreams. I must say it has helped me out of a few tricky situations. People have only vague and incomplete awareness of events that take place while into the grasp of the drug, which is what you are experiencing. Forgive me, Alienor. I didn't want the memories of our first intimate moments to be filled with pain and humiliation. You deserve far better than that."

So it was true; it did happen. Alienor felt lighter, with somehow a twinge of disappointment, as if something precious had been stolen from her. And while she understood Richard's reasons, she could never replace the events she had missed. It wasn't his fault, and he had done what he thought best to preserve her, at short notice, she could acknowledge that. Yet it was still unfair.

"Then show me what I deserve, and perhaps I will forgive you." It was a bold statement for someone so inexperienced, but she didn't regret a word of it. She wanted everything Richard had to offer; it was, after all, a fair compensation for her loss.

She heard a brief chortle and was engulfed in a bear hug, squeezing the breath out of her. Before she could extract herself from his overtly powerful embrace, Richard's mouth found hers and proceeded to rob her of how little air she still held, pouring all the tenderness he had been unable to convey earlier in the kiss.

When he let go of her, Alienor was dizzy and elated. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and shyly ran her fingers on his chest, over the thin linen of his shirt.

Richard caught her hand and pressed her knuckles against his lips. Then he opened the bed's curtains and got up to revive the fire.

He came back with a candle he placed on the bedside table, and a tankard of water. "Drink, it will help clear your mind." Seated on the edge of the mattress, he watched her take a cautious sip. "There is no drug in it this time. It wouldn't use the same trick twice."

Alienor cocked an eyebrow, pouted at him, and swallowed ostentatiously. He struggled to keep a straight face and lost the fight. Soon both of them were laughing off the tension of the day.

"I could get used to this," Richard said, dropping his head on the pillow. He stretched an arm out, dropping the tankard by the candle, and turned towards his wife. She lay on her back, out of breath from her mirth, her hair spread in a dark halo around her. Richard found himself utterly fascinated by the fast motion of her chest and the round breasts peeking through her sheer chemise.

Moved by a will of its own, his hand reached towards a tempting mound, his fingertips grazing it lightly. Alienor's eyes found his and she smiled.

"I will not take you again this night, it wouldn't be pleasant for you. Maybe tomorrow, if the midwife finds no damage. I had to be rather brutal for his Grace's entertainment and I want to be certain that I didn't cause you harm. Still, there are other ways..."

Her arms locking around his neck were all the answers he needed.

***

The next day at noon, Alienor had to sit through yet another banquet, and endure an endless stream of compliments lined with heavy innuendos. The Duke was back in his seat, freshly out of bed after dedicating most of the night to feasting with his friends. His haggard face was a testimony to the ravages of excessive beverage, and he displayed all the symptoms of a raging headache.

Despite his pitiful state, he had insisted to have the bloody sheet paraded across the house, and it was currently hanging outside the hall's window, which did nothing to improve the scarlet shade on Alienor's cheeks. And now he was addressing Richard, in a voice more suited for shouting orders on a battlefield.

"Congratulations on your success, Lord Fenton. It seems that you are not a bugger after all. This shall be a relief to my dear brother, he wouldn't want one of his trusted servants unmasked as a bloody sodomite."

Alienor watched with interest as Clarence winced at the loudness of his own speech.

Richard stared at him with the warmth of a snowbank in a harsh winter. "Of course not, your Grace. Isn't it fortunate that we were able to bury this embarrassing matter so deep, that there shall be no chance of digging it up ever again?"

"Naturally, naturally. We must forget all about it." Clarence paused, his heavy-lidded eyes falling on Alienor.

"Lady Fenton, did you enjoy your wedding night? You were astonishingly still and silent while your husband was breaching your pretty cunt..."

Alienor's hand shot to her hip before she could register that she was not carrying a sword. Who would have thought she could need one in her own house? Yet she would have revelled in running him through. The thought in itself was a comfort. But for the time being, her weapons were limited to her wits and sharp tongue.

"I was trying my best not to spoil your entertainment, your Grace. It is an established fact that the loss of one's maidenhead can be quite unpleasant. I am grateful to my Lord and husband for taking good care of me for the remnant of the night, and showing me the pleasures to be found in the marriage's bed. He had to cease after the eighth time though, as I was growing sore and tired. I guess I will have to build my endurance if I want to properly fulfill my duties."

Alienor paused and gazed at her plate, emphasizing her very real embarrassment. "If you please, your Grace, could you enlighten me as to what I should expect? How many times can a man swive his wife in one night?"

Richard spat his wine. He had to cough loudly in his sleeve to hide his laughter.

The Duke wasn't amused. "Are you mocking me, Lady Fenton? I would recommend that you think twice before affronting your betters..."

"I swear, your Grace, I am telling the truth. I will take an oath on the Gospels if need be. Are eight times not a lot? I am sorry for offending you, your Grace, it was never my intention..." Alienor did her best to play the part of the naive bride. She was aware of the absurdity of her claim, and yet she was telling the truth. Richard HAD pleasured her eight times, although not in the way the Duke understood it. He had joked about making an even number of apologies, and wouldn't stop before reaching his goal.

"If you are not lying, my Lady, I believe congratulations are in order, for it seems that your marriage has been blessed. I hope that it will soon bear its fruits. Let's drink to it."

Alienor gracefully returned the toast. "To our Lord King Edward of England and his ally Duke Charles of Burgundy. A match devised by such great minds couldn't fail, and I owed them a debt of gratitude for giving me to my Lord Fenton."

Once they set their cups down, Alienor discreetly sent a servant to the musicians, asking them to play some battle songs as loud as they could and to use a lot of drums, for his Grace was hard of hearing and wished to remember his glorious times at war.

The ensuing clangor had the Duke clamp his palms on his ears, his face contorted in pain. Alienor giggled in delight and clapped her hands in rhythm, compelling the guests to follow her lead. The noise increased tenfold, and so did her smile as she watched her least favorite royal suffer. It was a petty revenge, but revenge nonetheless.