without further ado, unfastened the drawstring on his braies. Delving down, she began to fondle him. Brian closed his eyes. He wasn’t a stallion in the breeding pen. He had never felt less amorous in his life and he was flaccid in her grip, which was becoming ever more desperate and vigorous. “Give me a moment,” he gasped, pushing her away. “Go and get into bed.”
She heaved a sigh, but did as he bade, and lay back, hitching up her nightgown and opening her legs. Brian hastily snuffed the candle and climbed in beside her. It would be better in the dark, he told himself, easier to pretend. He banished the thought of Maude’s dimpled flesh from his mind; blotted out 46
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too the smell of lye and sweat. He tried to ignore the grunt she made as he mounted her and imagined instead a lithe taut body scented with royal incense and roses, eyes the blue-grey of lavender flowers and a mouth that drove him wild. Such fancies in his mind, he became hard enough to do his duty. To enter her body and give her his seed. And once inside her, it became easier to envisage that this was not Maude but Matilda, and the act not just one of procreation, but of lovemaking.
When it was over he lifted himself off her and sat up, his ribs heaving. In the aftermath of release, he felt sullied, but at least he had given her what she wanted.
“There, there,” soothed Maude, patting his back as if he were a dog or a horse that had performed well. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“No,” he said, and thought that while he was relieved at a duty done, she was obviously satisfied that she could remove it from her own list of things to do while he was home. Her hand left him; she turned over and was soon asleep, soft snores catching at the back of her throat. Brian quietly dressed in the dark and went out. As he opened the door, he felt her dogs trotting past him into the room and he heard them leaping on to the bed, encouraged by Maude’s sleepy murmur of welcome.
Rousing a squire, he had the lad kindle a lantern and guide him to his own chamber. Let her have her dogs; he would seek the comfort of the written word.
47
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Six
Palace of Westminster, London, December 1126
Y ou will go to your grave with ink-stained fingers,”
Robert of Gloucester told Brian with deep amusement.
Brian looked at his hands and gave a self-deprecating smile before concealing them beneath his cloak. “I think you are right.
The marks do come out, but by the time I get rid of one lot, more are waiting to take their place.” His expression sobered.
“There are worse stains in the world.” He glanced round.
Westminster’s great hall was packed with courtiers, all robed in their furs and finery. Snow had fallen earlier that morning and there was a light dusting on the ground, fine as flour. There had been much talk concerning the oath that the king was expecting everyone to swear to Matilda, accepting her as his heir, and there was an undercurrent of deep unease, although no one had voiced their intentions of refusing to swear. Brian’s gaze flickered over Stephen of Blois and Boulogne, who was talking to his brother the abbot of Glastonbury and Roger, bishop of Salisbury. Brian’s mathematician’s eye easily picked out patterns in the gathering. Knots of men. Factions attached to each other by strands of mutual interest and ambition. They were all so much yarn for the king’s weaving—or for his undoing.
A fanfare sounded throughout the hall and, along a path cleared through the kneeling crowd by the royal marshals, the LadyofEnglish.indd 48
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king arrived and swept to take his place on the middle throne of three set on a raised dais. He wore a hinged crown glittering with gemstones and was accompanied by Adeliza, also crowned and clad in shimmering cloth of silver. Brian watched Matilda walk to take the third
She heaved a sigh, but did as he bade, and lay back, hitching up her nightgown and opening her legs. Brian hastily snuffed the candle and climbed in beside her. It would be better in the dark, he told himself, easier to pretend. He banished the thought of Maude’s dimpled flesh from his mind; blotted out 46
LadyofEnglish.indd 46
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Lady of the English
too the smell of lye and sweat. He tried to ignore the grunt she made as he mounted her and imagined instead a lithe taut body scented with royal incense and roses, eyes the blue-grey of lavender flowers and a mouth that drove him wild. Such fancies in his mind, he became hard enough to do his duty. To enter her body and give her his seed. And once inside her, it became easier to envisage that this was not Maude but Matilda, and the act not just one of procreation, but of lovemaking.
When it was over he lifted himself off her and sat up, his ribs heaving. In the aftermath of release, he felt sullied, but at least he had given her what she wanted.
“There, there,” soothed Maude, patting his back as if he were a dog or a horse that had performed well. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“No,” he said, and thought that while he was relieved at a duty done, she was obviously satisfied that she could remove it from her own list of things to do while he was home. Her hand left him; she turned over and was soon asleep, soft snores catching at the back of her throat. Brian quietly dressed in the dark and went out. As he opened the door, he felt her dogs trotting past him into the room and he heard them leaping on to the bed, encouraged by Maude’s sleepy murmur of welcome.
Rousing a squire, he had the lad kindle a lantern and guide him to his own chamber. Let her have her dogs; he would seek the comfort of the written word.
47
LadyofEnglish.indd 47
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Six
Palace of Westminster, London, December 1126
Y ou will go to your grave with ink-stained fingers,”
Robert of Gloucester told Brian with deep amusement.
Brian looked at his hands and gave a self-deprecating smile before concealing them beneath his cloak. “I think you are right.
The marks do come out, but by the time I get rid of one lot, more are waiting to take their place.” His expression sobered.
“There are worse stains in the world.” He glanced round.
Westminster’s great hall was packed with courtiers, all robed in their furs and finery. Snow had fallen earlier that morning and there was a light dusting on the ground, fine as flour. There had been much talk concerning the oath that the king was expecting everyone to swear to Matilda, accepting her as his heir, and there was an undercurrent of deep unease, although no one had voiced their intentions of refusing to swear. Brian’s gaze flickered over Stephen of Blois and Boulogne, who was talking to his brother the abbot of Glastonbury and Roger, bishop of Salisbury. Brian’s mathematician’s eye easily picked out patterns in the gathering. Knots of men. Factions attached to each other by strands of mutual interest and ambition. They were all so much yarn for the king’s weaving—or for his undoing.
A fanfare sounded throughout the hall and, along a path cleared through the kneeling crowd by the royal marshals, the LadyofEnglish.indd 48
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Lady of the English
king arrived and swept to take his place on the middle throne of three set on a raised dais. He wore a hinged crown glittering with gemstones and was accompanied by Adeliza, also crowned and clad in shimmering cloth of silver. Brian watched Matilda walk to take the third
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