Bertrice Small - A Memory of Love

"Heather," Enit replied. "My mother makes an oil from the flowers she gathers on the hill each year. I put some of it in the water, my lady. I hope you like it." She bustled about, brushing Rhonwyn's overgown and undertunic, storing them away in the garderobe.

"It's lovely," Rhonwyn answered. "I've never had a scented bath before. It's quite wonderful, and I thank you." She took the washing cloth and some of the soft cleansing soap from a stone crock, and set about washing herself. The tub had been set before the fireplace in her dayroom. Rhonwyn splashed happily.

Then the door to her chambers opened, and she heard her husband say, "Enit, you will sleep in your mother's cottage tonight."

"Yes, my lord" came the dutiful reply, and Rhonwyn heard the door close again.

"Are you enjoying your bath, lady?" Edward de Beaulieu asked.

Rhonwyn turned slowly so as not to spill water onto the floor. He wore only a sherte that came to his knees. "My lord," she said, "am I allowed no privacy in my bath?"

"I have always enjoyed watching my women bathe," he said quietly.

"Your women?" Her eyes had widened at his words.

"Surely, lady, you do not think me a virgin," he responded. "I am a healthy man with healthy appetites. I have kept my share of mistresses. I shall no longer, however, now that I have a wife."

She nodded. It was reasonable, and his promise to remain faithful to her was comforting.

"You are flushed with the heat of your bath, Rhonwyn. It is very becoming to you," he told her.

She did not answer him, for she was not certain what to say. How she hated being made to feel a fool, but this was a situation she had never imagined.

"Are you coming out of your tub soon, Rhonwyn?" he asked her.

"How can I when you are standing here, my lord?" she replied.

"It is my right to see you as God fashioned you, wife," he told her, and his silvery-gray eyes were twinkling.

"But I have never stood as God fashioned me before any man," she responded quickly. "I am not certain I can."

Reaching over the edge of the high wood tub, he put his hands beneath her arms and quickly lifted her out of the water, setting her down upon the floor. He drew a deep breath of pleasure. She had sweet little round breasts that begged to be loved.

With a gasp of both surprise and shock Rhonwyn snatched at the drying cloth and covered her nakedness. "That was unfairly done, my lord!" she scolded him.

"Has no one ever told you that all is fair in both love and war, my lady wife?" His eyes were burning a hole in the cloth.

"There is no love here, my lord, so we must be at war," she declared, "and you will find I am no easy enemy."

Reaching out, he plucked the pin holding her hair atop her head. Then wrapping a hank of the gilt mass about his hand, he pulled her against him, looking down into her beautiful but determined face. "You belong to me, Rhonwyn, as my warhorse belongs to me, as my weapons and my castle belong to me. I am your husband, and I have certain rights that I am privileged to take of you. Certainly you know that." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "You are young and innocent and shy. I understand your fears, but our marriage must be consummated."

"I barely understand what you are asking of me, my lord, but must this consummation take place tonight? Can we not have time to know one another better? We have only just met."

"What difference does it make, tonight or another night, eh, lady? Were you any other man's daughter but ap Gruffydd's, I should gladly honor your request, but you are not. My king fears your father will seek to take you back if the marriage is not immediately consummated. That he would seek an annulment and use you in a more advantageous marriage with an enemy of King Henry."

"Aye," Rhonwyn agreed, "he is that wily, my lord."

"I will be as gentle with you as I can," he promised her, caressing her cheek.

Without realizing, she drew back from his touch. "My mother died when I was five," she said. "I know nothing of what is expected of me. The nuns did not speak on it. I saw the prince atop my mother, but I never knew what transpired between them. I am sorry for my ignorance, but there it is, my lord, and I should rather be honest with you even if you think me a fool for my stupidity."

"You are a convent-bred virgin, Rhonwyn. You are not expected to know what transpires between a man and his wife until your husband teaches you," he said gently.

"My lord, I am not convent bred. I spent the last months with my aunt, the Abbess Gwynllian, but before that I lived at Cythraul," Rhonwyn told him.

"Let us get into bed, wife, and then you can tell me," he suggested, releasing his hold on her. Taking the toweling from her, he dried her as best he could and then led her into her bedchamber. Rhonwyn quickly climbed into the bed, and her husband, pulling his sherte off so that he, also, was naked, joined her. It was done so swiftly that she had no time to really examine him as he had examined her. "Now, tell me, Rhonwyn, what is Cythraul?"

"A fortress in the Welshry, my lord. It was only chance that ap Gruffydd discovered my brother and me the day after our mam died from birthing too soon our new sister. When he had buried them, he took Glynn and me to Cythraul and left us in the charge of our kinsman, Morgan ap Owen. That is where we remained until ap Gruffydd came to fetch me several months ago."

"And you were raised by your kinsman's wife?" de Beaulieu asked his bride.

Rhonwyn shook her head. "Cythraul, my lord, is a fortress of men. There were no women there at all. It would have been too dangerous if the English came over the border, you see," she attempted to explain.

"There were no women at Cythraul?" He looked down into her face to see if she was making mock of him.

"None, my lord," Rhonwyn responded softly.

"And would it not have been as dangerous for you and your brother if your enemies attacked this fortress?" he said.

"Perhaps when we were little, before I learned how to be a good soldier, my lord," she told him frankly.

"A soldier?" he said weakly. Surely she was mocking him, but he could see that she was quite serious.

"I ride, they say, as if I were part of my horse," Rhonwyn said. "I can use a sword and main gauche extremely well. I am passably proficient with a mace and a javelin, but it is with an alborium that I excel. 1 did most of the hunting for Cythraul from the time that I was ten. We ate very well."

"And your brother is equally soldierly?" She had to be playing a game with him. Women were not soldiers, good or otherwise.

"Glynn has no interests in weapons or war. He is a poet, a singer of songs, ap Gruffydd has no use for him," Rhonywn explained.

"Rhonwyn, tell me that you are jesting with me," he begged her.

"Why would I do such a thing, my lord? Nay, I do not jest."

"But you are so… so beautiful! You are educated," he said.

"When ap Gruffydd came to Cythraul six months ago and found he had two sons," she chuckled, "he took me at once to my aunt. All I have learned I learned in the last few months, for I swear to you I could speak no language but my own before then. I knew not our dear Lord Jesus, or anything else, for that matter, but war and weapons. The prince of Wales needed a daughter for this treaty marriage. My aunt saw he got a perfect daughter back, and believe me, it cost him dearly."

Edward de Beaulieu was astounded by her story. "That is why he put the marriage off until now," he said thoughtfully.

"Aye," she agreed. "You call me beautiful, my lord. Six months ago I don't think you would have thought so. My father should have put his children with my aunt when he found us nine years ago, but Cythraul was closer, and it was easier to leave us there. Fortunately for my brother and me, our kinsman, Morgan ap Owen, has a large and good heart. I had no woman to model myself after until I went to my aunt the abbess. I am certain that lasses raised in a normal way know enough about consummation not to be considered fools. My aunt is a holy virgin. If she knew of such things, she did not discuss them."