Chapter 26 #3
Bright sunlight didn’t really incline them to leave their bed, exhausted as they were from little sleep and much exercise.
Still, as they lay there, idly, lovingly playing with one another’s bodies, they mentioned the vague possibility of rising to face the world.
And also, a bit more urgently, the thought of eating at some point in the future.
Still, contented exhaustion and physical delight pinned them down.
Finally, Claire realized that she’d never told Renald her thoughts about her father and she went over them for him. “So I see now why you don’t feel guilt. I still think Henry killed his brother, but he’s probably the best king.”
“Yes.” He rolled to his side, head propped on hand. “It’s not an easy subject. I’d have given my right hand to save your father if I could. He was a good man. A blessing on the earth.”
“And yet perhaps he should have been a monk not a baron.”
“No. For then he’d not have made his angels.”
She touched his face. “It’s troubling, isn’t it? If he’d not joined the rebellion—if he’d not forced the duel—I would not have you.”
“We might have met. Surely we would have known.”
Tears threatened at the thought of having Renald and her father both, but Claire fought them away. “I’m sorry he made you kill him.”
He didn’t brush it off, but kissed her. “Thank you. I confess, I harbored anger, even hatred, for him over that. I thought he intended to die to put point on his cause, and had forced me to be his instrument. That would have been a dark sin. I see now that he really thought he would win.”
“If he’d stuck the fight on the issue of whether the king killed his brother, could he have won?”
“Faith says he could. It wouldn’t have happened. Such an ordeal would have rested on the king’s guilt, and the king would have had to fight. If your father had come even close to that, he’d have died in his room in the Tower.”
“Sweet angels,” Claire whispered. “The king is not a good man.”
“What is good? A king must sometimes be ruthless. It all rests in the end between him and God.”
“But,” she couldn’t resist asking, “what would you have done if the battle had been on the subject of regicide? Would you still have fought?”
She realized while speaking that she worried about this, worried about him being the champion of a less-than-perfect king.
He just shook his head. “Claire, don’t borrow trouble. Such battles are extremely rare.” He looked around. “If we were to call, do you think someone would come with food and drink?”
She decided to let it go. “We could eat each other,” she said, putting her fingers to his lips.
He nibbled them, but said, “We’ve done that. I don’t think it can work as permanent sustenance. You don’t want me to lose weight, do you?”
But Claire had been struck by another thought. She pushed herself into a sitting position, looking around. “Where’s your sword?”
After a moment, he reached and pulled it out from behind the bed. “It’s not a matter of trust,” he said in response to her unspoken protest. “I just don’t take unnecessary risks.”
She put her hand on it. “Renald de Lisle, I accept the sword. I don’t entirely like it or what it stands for. I’m going to die a little every time you fight, be it tourney or battle. But I accept it. And anyway, it has a holy relic in it.” She touched the stone and blessed herself.
Then she took hold of the scabbard to stand the weapon upright against the wall, looming darkly over their marriage bed.
“It is strange,” she said, sitting back to study it, “that a weapon look like a cross.”
“Don’t make another riddle of it.” He pulled her to him, but one-handed he retrieved the sword and laid it on the bed before he slid into her. “I don’t want it falling on our heads, love.”
“I accept the sword,” said Claire, and held tight to the black scabbard as his fleshy blade took her to ecstasy.
“By St. Amand,” he muttered as they lay together afterward, still stickily joined. “I hope the king doesn’t want me out riding today.”
She giggled. “Are you sore, too?”
“Only in the most delightful way. But don’t tempt me any more, wench.”
“Me?” she protested as they wriggled apart. “What do I do?”
“Wriggle. Giggle. Smile. Breath …” He groaned and rolled out of bed to open the door and bellow for food and drink. “What hour do you think it is?” he asked, stretching.
“Perhaps as late as sext.” Claire decided that admiring his body was hazardous to her stinging flesh and went to peer out of the long window. “The castle looks in full bustle.”
He came up behind her, leaning against her, big, warm, and hard. Her breath caught. “It’s a pity we’re sore.”
He kissed her neck. “We have our lives, love. Keep this position in mind. You might like it. I hear people coming.”
Claire hastily slid beneath the covers again. Renald just wrapped a cloth around his waist as Maria, Prissy, and Josce hurried in with platters of food and jugs of ale.
They’d have hovered to see if they could be of further use, but Renald sent them away and he and Claire settled to a long, lazy, and much appreciated meal. They might have slipped into a nap if Josce hadn’t returned, announcing rather nervously that they were wanted below.
“Why?” Renald made no attempt to get out of bed.
“The Lady Felice has arrived from Summerbourne and demands to speak to you both.”
“Felice!” Claire almost leaped out of bed but decided to spare the squire’s blushes. “It must be Mother.”
Renald waved Josce away and they both got up and began to wash and dress, Claire in a fever because she feared something terrible had happened.
Renald stopped her and straightened her clothes. “Whatever has happened, happened some time ago. Don’t fly into a panic.”
“But—”
“This is your Aunt Felice, remember? The one who wanted to come to court.”
Claire laughed and calmed. “Oh, of course.” After a moment, she added, “Perhaps I’d better see her alone.”
“I won’t fight you for the honor. But since she’s here, I’ll see if I can think of any men who might suit her.”
She kissed him. “And who’ll take Amice as well. Try for someone big and important.”
“I thought she fled to escape big.”
“You frightened her off with stories of being too big!”
“And now, alas, by being able to walk, my bride will announce to the world that I’m a pitifully endowed sort of man.”
Claire pushed him and he obligingly collapsed back onto their bed, an interested light in his eye. She shook her head and hurried out to see what excuse Felice had found to rush here to the king’s court.