Nothing Else Matters by Susan Sizemore

managed it on his own.
    Once out of the cloak, Eleanor sprang to her feet. When Stian got up and staggered into the cave, she fol owed. She could see little, she could only tel that the cave was dry and big enough for Stian to stand upright.
    Now that she was on solid ground again, anger was overcoming her fear. “Where are we?” she asked. “Why have you brought me here?”
    Stian’s hands landed heavily on her shoulders then slid down her arms and away. “Going to take you,” he said. He pointed to the ground. “Right here.” He laughed, a low sound, but it echoed off the stone wal s surrounding them. “Going to…have…you.”
    Eleanor drew herself up to her ful , inconsiderable height. “I won’t be ravished on my wedding night!”
    “Fine,” Stian answered, the word slow and slurred. He sounded annoyingly cheerful. “I’l ravish you in the morning.” He slid to the ground.
    Eleanor waited for long minutes without moving, staring down at the unmoving lump she’d married. Final y she stepped forward and prodded him with her
    toe. “Sir Stian?” He didn’t move. “My lord?” Nothing. He was asleep. “Damn!”
    Eleanor didn’t know what to do about this incredible turn of events. She’d been resigned to a proper bedding, to the pain of doing her wifely duty amid proper ceremony. There should have been a bed and jokes and advice from those who helped them undress. They should have sat stiffly side by side,
    naked under the covers while Lord Roger made a speech and offered toasts to the newlyweds. Edythe should have been there with advice and an
    encouraging goodnight kiss. There should have been sly winks and open laughter, encouragement and congratulations. It should have been done
    properly.
    She had been prepared for doing it properly. Then she would have felt married. She wouldn’t have minded so much when they were left alone and Stian
    bade her open her legs for him. She would have felt like a martyr but she would also have felt like a wife.
    This was al wrong. It was mad. And here she was alone in a cave the holy saints knew where with a man too drunk to do anything but sleep. She didn’t
    know what she was going to do. She couldn’t just run back to Harelby and pound on the gate until someone let her in. She had no idea where she was or
    how she’d gotten here. There were probably wolves or bears or wildcats in the forest. She was just going to have to wait for him to wake, wasn’t she? She didn’t know what she was going to do until then.
    She did however take momentary satisfaction in kicking Stian in the rump as hard as she could. She ended up with aching toes and he just turned over
    and began snoring. Eleanor wanted to kick him again and to swear at him as wel .
    “I do not wish to be in your company,” she informed him. “Sleeping or awake. Drunk or sober,” she added. “Not that I’l probably ever have to worry about seeing you sober.”
    She turned around and spent a good while standing in the cave mouth breathing in the cold night air. Eventual y she picked the cloak up off the ground and stood holding it, knowing how useful it would be as a blanket. It wasn’t that she minded sleeping on the ground. She had slept on the ground many
    nights on the journey from Poitiers and on the way to Harelby. She was used to sleeping with Edythe by her side or very nearby. Now Edythe slept beside Lord Roger at Harelby and Eleanor had never felt more alone in her life.
    It wasn’t just for tonight. She had her whole life before her to spend alone with this man. She had to decide what to do.
    Al she could do, she supposed, was live with him. If he wanted to spend his wedding night in a cave, who was she to gainsay him? If he wanted to rape her in the morning, wel , she would have something to say about that. She and the teachings of Lady Constance.
    Eleanor ran a hand down the front of her overdress. She looked back at the dark lump that was Stian and fought down the shudder that was