A Memory of Love by Bertrice Small Page B

God himself chosen you a wife, and not King Henry. Remember she is a virgin when you satisfy your lust.”
    “My lord,” Rhonwyn chided him sharply, “your words are unseemly and very indelicate.”
    “And your caution unnecessary, for I see what my wife is,” Edward de Beaulie told his father-in-law. Then he took Rhonwyn's hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it tenderly. “I will join you eventually, my lady wife,” he said quietly.
    She glided from the hall with as much dignity as she could muster, thinking her father crude and her husband gallant. In her chambers she found Enit awaiting her. Her servant had arranged for Rhonwyn to have a bath. The tall oaken tub had been brought from its storage space in the garderobe and filled while they had eaten the wedding feast in the hall below. Enit helped her mistress to disrobe and then step into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful. Rhonwyn pinned her long hair atop her head with a tortoiseshell pin.
    “Put my garments away,” she told Enit. “I am quite capable of washing myself. What is that delicious scent? It is so delicate.”
    “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 Beaulie 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