too powerful for words. “At least let me tell you this once that I don’t want to marry him, and I don’t want to leave here,” I say flatly.
Over my son’s round head Jasper smiles at me, but his eyes are dark with pain. “I know,” he says. “And I can tell you that I shall be filled with grief when you are gone. I will miss you.”
“You love me as a sister,” I insist, daring him to contradict me.
He turns away, takes one step, and then comes back to me. Henry gurgles and reaches his arms out to me, thinking this is a game. Jasper stops short—just half a pace away from me, close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my cheek, close enough for me to step towards him, into his arms, if I only dared. “You know I can’t speak,” Jasper says tightly. “You will be Lady Stafford within a week. Go with the knowledge that I will think of you every time I lift your boy from his bed, every time I kneel for my prayers, every time I order my horse, every hour of every day. There are words that cannot in honor be said between the Earl of Pembroke and Lady Stafford, so I will not say them. You will have to be satisfied with this.”
I rub my eyes hard, and my fists come away wet with tears. “But this is nothing,” I say fiercely. “Nothing to what I would say to you. Not at all what I want to hear.”
“As it should be. This way you have nothing to confess, neither to a priest nor a husband. And neither do I.” He pauses. “Now go.”
I lead the way down the stairs to the courtyard of the castle, where the horses are waiting. My betrothed gets down heavily from his saddle and lifts me onto my horse, and murmurs again that it is a long way and I might like to ride pillion, or take a litter, and I say, once more, that I have learned to ride, that I like to ride, and that Arthur, the horse that Jasper gave me as a wedding gift, will carry me steadily and safely all day.
The guards are mounted; they line up and dip their banners to the Earl of Pembroke, with the little Earl of Richmond, my boy, in his arms. Sir Henry throws him a casual salute. Jasper looks at me and I look back at him for one unflinching moment, and then I turn my horse’s head and I ride away from Pembroke, the castle, and its earl. I do not turn my head to see if he is looking after me; I know that he is.
We go to my mother’s house at Bletsoe, and I am married in the little chapel with my half sisters in attendance. This time, I do not ask my mother if I can be spared the wedding, and she does not reassure me with false promises. I look sideways at my new husband and think that though he is twice my age perhaps he will be kinder to me than a younger man would be. As I kneel at the altar for my wedding blessing, I pray with all my heart that he is so old as to be impotent.
They give us a wedding feast and put us to bed, and I kneel at the foot of the bed and pray for courage and that his strength may fail him. He comes into the room before I am finished and takes off his gown, letting me see him naked, as if there is no awkwardness at all. “What are you praying for?” he asks, bare-chested, bare-arsed, just utterly gross and shocking, and yet he speaks as if he did not know it.
“To be spared,” I blurt out, and at once clap my hand to mymouth in horror. “I am so sorry, I beg your pardon. I meant to be spared from fear.”
Amazingly, he shows no flare of temper. He does not even seem to be angry. He laughs as he gets into bed, still naked. “Poor child,” he says. “Poor child. You have nothing to fear from me. I will try not to hurt you, and I will always be kind to you. But you must learn to mind your tongue.”
I flush scarlet with misery and get into the bed. He gently pulls me towards him and puts his arm around me and holds me to his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No man has ever held me before, and I am rigid with fear at his touch and at the smell of him. I am waiting for the rough
Over my son’s round head Jasper smiles at me, but his eyes are dark with pain. “I know,” he says. “And I can tell you that I shall be filled with grief when you are gone. I will miss you.”
“You love me as a sister,” I insist, daring him to contradict me.
He turns away, takes one step, and then comes back to me. Henry gurgles and reaches his arms out to me, thinking this is a game. Jasper stops short—just half a pace away from me, close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my cheek, close enough for me to step towards him, into his arms, if I only dared. “You know I can’t speak,” Jasper says tightly. “You will be Lady Stafford within a week. Go with the knowledge that I will think of you every time I lift your boy from his bed, every time I kneel for my prayers, every time I order my horse, every hour of every day. There are words that cannot in honor be said between the Earl of Pembroke and Lady Stafford, so I will not say them. You will have to be satisfied with this.”
I rub my eyes hard, and my fists come away wet with tears. “But this is nothing,” I say fiercely. “Nothing to what I would say to you. Not at all what I want to hear.”
“As it should be. This way you have nothing to confess, neither to a priest nor a husband. And neither do I.” He pauses. “Now go.”
I lead the way down the stairs to the courtyard of the castle, where the horses are waiting. My betrothed gets down heavily from his saddle and lifts me onto my horse, and murmurs again that it is a long way and I might like to ride pillion, or take a litter, and I say, once more, that I have learned to ride, that I like to ride, and that Arthur, the horse that Jasper gave me as a wedding gift, will carry me steadily and safely all day.
The guards are mounted; they line up and dip their banners to the Earl of Pembroke, with the little Earl of Richmond, my boy, in his arms. Sir Henry throws him a casual salute. Jasper looks at me and I look back at him for one unflinching moment, and then I turn my horse’s head and I ride away from Pembroke, the castle, and its earl. I do not turn my head to see if he is looking after me; I know that he is.
We go to my mother’s house at Bletsoe, and I am married in the little chapel with my half sisters in attendance. This time, I do not ask my mother if I can be spared the wedding, and she does not reassure me with false promises. I look sideways at my new husband and think that though he is twice my age perhaps he will be kinder to me than a younger man would be. As I kneel at the altar for my wedding blessing, I pray with all my heart that he is so old as to be impotent.
They give us a wedding feast and put us to bed, and I kneel at the foot of the bed and pray for courage and that his strength may fail him. He comes into the room before I am finished and takes off his gown, letting me see him naked, as if there is no awkwardness at all. “What are you praying for?” he asks, bare-chested, bare-arsed, just utterly gross and shocking, and yet he speaks as if he did not know it.
“To be spared,” I blurt out, and at once clap my hand to mymouth in horror. “I am so sorry, I beg your pardon. I meant to be spared from fear.”
Amazingly, he shows no flare of temper. He does not even seem to be angry. He laughs as he gets into bed, still naked. “Poor child,” he says. “Poor child. You have nothing to fear from me. I will try not to hurt you, and I will always be kind to you. But you must learn to mind your tongue.”
I flush scarlet with misery and get into the bed. He gently pulls me towards him and puts his arm around me and holds me to his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No man has ever held me before, and I am rigid with fear at his touch and at the smell of him. I am waiting for the rough
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