Elizabeth Chadwick - The Summer Queen

Alienor shivered with lust. It had been so long. There was so much she wanted to ask him, but it could wait. She would not receive an answer from him if she asked now. The suggestive surge and retreat of his hips against hers, the feel of his hands on her body, the smell and touch of him was creating an overriding need. Her own hands became very busy and Henry muttered an expletive. With his braies around his knees, he heaved her on to the bed.

‘Now,’ he gasped as he knelt over her, poised. ‘Speak now if you are not ready to conceive another child because I am ripe to bursting!’

Alienor laughed breathlessly. ‘Is this one of your fitting gifts?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said, his jaw tense and his stomach sucked in. ‘What could be more fitting than this?’

He thrust into her full measure and she clasped herself around him, glorying in his vigour and energy, his frank sexual need and pleasure, so different from Louis. Delighting too that he welcomed her responses and did not expect her to be passive in the exchange. He was a young golden lion and she was his mate and his match.

Henry lightly stroked Alienor’s belly in the aftermath of their mating. ‘I would fill you again and again for the pleasure of the begetting,’ he said. ‘We shall make a fine dynasty of sons and daughters between us.’

Alienor turned in his arms to face him. ‘Your part is simple,’ she said. ‘You would find the constant bearing harder toil.’

‘I concede that I would, but each to our duty and our role.’

Alienor arched her brows. ‘Indeed, but being the bearer of my heirs and yours does not mean I cease to be a duchess. I am more than just a brood mare, I warn you.’

He looked a trifle taken aback. ‘Of course you are more; that is taken for granted.’

‘As long as you do not take me for granted,’ she said, determined to push her point home. ‘I may carry and bear the children, but I will receive my due in every part.’

He kissed her again. ‘You will be honoured as is your right, I promise.’

Alienor returned the kiss, but felt a slight misgiving at the tone of his voice. She was swiftly learning that her young husband was a force of nature carrying all before him. People had to bend to his needs; he did not bow to theirs. He would only keep his word if it suited him to do so. She had to make herself matter to him in every way, not just as the key that opened the door to Aquitaine and the provider of heirs. ‘Do not give your promise lightly,’ she said to him, ‘because I will hold you to it down all the days of our marriage.’

‘Then hold me to it; I shall not prove wanting.’ He continued to nuzzle and kiss her. He had been going to tell her about Aelburgh and little Geoffrey, but since they were far away in England, he decided for the moment she need not know.

As their lovemaking progressed, Alienor straddled him, taking control of the moment.

‘Then let us seal your promise,’ she said, moving upon him lightly, the tips of her hair trailing over his chest and belly. ‘I am your wife, your lover, the mother of your children.’ She tossed her head and rose and fell, and saw his fists clench on the sheets. ‘I am a duchess with lands and vassals; I am of ancient lineage. I have been a queen; I shall be so again; and I will have all that is my due.’

Henry swallowed and gritted his teeth. ‘Christ, woman …’

‘Swear it.’ She rose and settled.

‘You already have my promise,’ he gasped, ‘but I do so swear again.’

‘And you must swear again,’ she said, ‘because three times is binding.’ She leaned over and bit him lightly on each nipple, enough to cause a sharp sensation verging on pain, but exquisite.

His face contorted. ‘I swear it!’ He seized her hips to hold her still and arrowed into her, climaxing harder than he had ever done in his life, and she took her pleasure from seeing his and knowing in that moment the power was all hers.

‘What will your mother say about Stephen adopting you?’ she asked when they had both recovered and were refreshing themselves with wine and curd tarts from the platters on the trestle.

Henry gave a grunt of amusement. ‘She will be incensed, I have no doubt. It was bad enough that Geoffrey of Anjou was my sire, and to have me adopted by the man who stole her crown will disgust her.’ He shrugged and took a bite from the tart Alienor was feeding him. ‘She will accept it, though; she is pragmatic and she has no choice. I just won’t refer to Stephen as my “stepfather” in her company.’

‘What of Stephen’s other son? What does he think of his father making you the heir and cutting him from the inheritance?’

‘He was not best pleased at first, but not prepared to take it further. No one would support him, including his own father. We had a long discussion before the tomb of my grandsire at Reading and William agreed to step down. Those who began the fight are growing old and do not want to see their own sons caught up in the conflict when there’s a sensible solution under their noses.’

Henry went to pick up the long leather roll from his baggage. ‘We must arrange a ceremony to display this before everyone.’ Within the roll, wrapped in a purple silk cloth, was a scabbard of embossed leather over a wooden core. The sword hilt within was of Nordic style, beautifully crafted and engraved. The grip was bound with red silk cord and the hilt ends were fashioned into the shape of beasts with open mouths.

‘This is the sword of my great-great-grandfather, Duke Robert of Normandy,’ he said. ‘He left it to his son, William, who then bore it into battle when he came to conquer England. It has hung at the tomb of my grandsire in Reading Abbey for almost twenty years and it is mine now. William of Boulogne will not contest my right to wield it. It was given to me as a token of my future kingship by the consent of all the barons in England.’ His eyes shone as grey as the light on the steel and as sharp as the blade. ‘Stephen will live out the rest of his life as king, and when he dies, the crown will be mine.’

Alienor felt the power in him and her heart filled with pride and exultation, but it did not blind her to practicality. ‘What of your enemies, those who have built castles and made themselves little kingdoms throughout this war?’

‘The order has already gone out that all adulterine castles are to be demolished and everything restored to what it was on the day when my grandsire was alive and dead. This sword symbolises a return to the peace and justice we had before – and shall have again. That is my priority.’

She nodded with approval. It was a future vision made of practicality, not golden dreams. Something worthwhile, steady and solid, which, in due course, would be built to last. For the moment they had Normandy, Anjou and Aquitaine to govern – and each other to enjoy.

51

Fontevraud Abbey, May 1154

Drawing rein, Henry gazed at the walls of Fontevraud Abbey and began to smile. ‘It’s good to be back,’ he said. ‘My father often brought me and my brothers here to visit our aunt Mathilde and sometimes left us in her custody while he went about his duties.’

Alienor looked amused. ‘I expect you disrupted the life of the nuns?’

‘We were not allowed to – our aunt saw to that; but we were indulged by the ladies of the Magdalene house who had not taken vows.’ A look that was almost yearning crossed his face. ‘If I were to call somewhere home, this would be it.’

His words gave Alienor food for thought. This, then, for Henry was a place of the heart. Not Rouen, not Angers or even Le Mans, but Fontevraud. And that must be because of the feelings it evoked.

Abbess Mathilde abandoned all formality in greeting Henry and hugged him to her bosom with all the fondness of an aunt for her favourite nephew. ‘It has been so long!’ she cried. ‘Look at you, a grown man!’ She turned from a grinning Henry to Alienor and embraced her fondly. ‘And your beautiful wife. Welcome, welcome. And where is my great-nephew? Let me see him!’