The Summer Queen by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

been explained also.’ His fingers brushed her face. ‘But this does not feel like a duty. I thought it would, but it doesn’t.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps it should.’
    Alienor tensed as Louis leaned over her. She had thought they would talk more, but it seemed he was intent on his business and she need not have worried that his early training as a monk had left him ignorant.
    ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘I am not a beast; I am a prince of France.’ A note of pride crept into his voice. He kissed her cheek and temple with a butterfly gentleness that was almost reverential. His touch was eager, but he was not rough. ‘The Church has given us sanction to do this, and it is a holy thing.’
    Alienor steadied herself. The marriage had to be consummated. Proof would be sought in the morning. The deed couldn’t be that terrible or else men and women would not return to it so often or write songs and poetry about it in vivid, carnal detail.
    He kissed her on the mouth with his lips closed, and began tentatively to untie the laces at the throat of her chemise. His hand was trembling and his breath shook in his chest. Alienor realised that he too was out of his depth, and it gave her courage. She returned his kiss and put her hands in his hair. His skin was smooth and supple, and his breath smelled of wine and cardamom seeds. Amid clumsy, breathless kisses, they undressed each other. Louis pulled the sheets over them both, creating a barely lit tent within the confines of the bed curtains, and he lay on her. His body was damp with sweat and as smooth as her own. His fair hair was silky under her fingers. She could have stayed like this all night, kissing and touching, wrapped in this mutual, tender embrace with everything still to discover. But Louis was keen to progress the matter and, after a moment, Alienor parted her legs for him.
    It was the secret channel. The place where children were conceived from a blending of male and female seed, and from which they were pushed into the world nine months later. A source of sin and shame, but also of pleasure. The work of God; the work of the Devil. Her grandfather had been excommunicated for falling prey to his lust for that place within his mistress’s body, and refusing to give her up even though she was another man’s wife. He had written paeans to the glories of fornication.
    Louis fumbled and muttered something that sounded like an oath, but then she realised he was entreating God to be with him at this moment and help him do his duty. Alienor felt a sharp, stabbing pain as he pushed into her and she arched and gritted her teeth, striving not to cry out. He moved above her half a dozen times, and then with a gasp and a final lunge, shuddered and was still.
    After a moment he heaved a deep sigh and withdrew from her. Alienor closed her legs as he lay down at her side. There was a long silence. Was that it? Was that all the deed consisted of? Was she supposed to speak? She had once come across a couple in an empty stable lazing in post-coital bliss and they had been talking and kissing in a warm and languorous way, but was that appropriate for her and Louis?
    Eventually, he stroked her arm and, drawing away, donned his nightshirt. Leaving the bed, he knelt before the small altar and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. Alienor was astonished at his action, but he looked so beautiful with the candlelight shining on his hair, and his features aglow with devotion, that she felt admiration too.
    He turned to her. ‘Do you not come and pray too, wife?’ he asked with a frown.
    Alienor stretched. ‘If that is what you want me to do,’ she said.
    His frown deepened. ‘It is what you should do for God, and without question. We should both thank Him and pray that He makes us fruitful.’
    Alienor thought they had already done that, but she humoured him and, donning her shift, came to kneel at his side and make her own prayer. Louis’s tense shoulders relaxed and his