Royal Sentence Ch. 10-11

Dear readers,

I know it has been a long time. I have been writing and rewriting these chapters (including finished #12 and close-to-completion #13) maybe 100 times trying to get them exactly right. You'll be the judges of that.

The next part should be out shortly, only a couple of paragraphs missing.

I have favored the use of French endearments, right for the period but a touch patronizing nowadays, avoid trying them on a contemporary French girlfriend! 'Ma mie' or 'm'amie' is an archaic contraction of 'mon amie' -my friend- which is meant in a very affectionate way, mostly between lovers or husband and wife. It's the equivalent of 'ma chérie' -my darling- which wasn't used in 17th century France.

Enjoy and don't hesitate to vote, follow and comment!

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Chapter 10:

Roland watched his new wife disappear through the door leading to her temporary chambers.

He had been gawking at her ever since Bassompierre led her to the altar. To be fair, all the gentlemen in the nave had been ogling her, bar Louis, of course. Those who had sniggered at the King's sentence now envied his punishment.

Looking at his bride, Roland couldn't tell what he found more appealing. Was it the rhythmic sway of her skirt, brushing the flagstones with a slight whoosh, or the waves of cerulean silk taffeta, shimmering into shades of mauve and pink like the wrapping of a decadent gift? The sudden feeling that her tiny waist, emphasized by the farthingale, would fit perfectly in his hands? Or the sight of her firm breasts, bursting out of her basquine under wisps of lace and rows of pearls, two juicy apples begging to be plucked?

In her wedding dress, Sabine de Brissard was indeed a vision.

Roland smiled. The simple yet elegant outfit belonged to the youngest daughter of the lady of the house, and was a little too tight on Sabine's more womanly body. Not that any male present would complain. Not even the priest had paid attention to his bride's face.

A pity, that. It was her best feature. The maids had showcased it by pinning her hair up in a mass of ringlets. She was not a classic beauty, and made up for it with a savory mix of innocence and spirit. The rouge adorning her lips and cheeks wasn't as enticing as their natural flush when she writhed under his mouth, while her creamy complexion was enhanced with a hint of rice powder, hiding a dusting of freckles. Escaping their prickly jailors, two curly blonde tendrils brushed the sides of her forehead, challenging his hands to brush them back.

He would have been hard pressed to guess her mood. She had kept her gaze on the floor the whole time, going through the motions as if unaware of what she was doing, and parroting the priest's words in a flat voice. For all Roland knew she could have been sleepwalking. Her strongest displays of emotion were the trembling of her pearl pendants as she pronounced her vows, and the clamminess of her hand when he slid the ring on her finger.

It didn't deter him. Neither of them wanted to be wed, and she would need time to come to terms with it, time he was more than happy to give her. Their union had been rushed, but they would have six long months to start anew, in the comfort of his castle. They would find an agreement; marriage was, after all, a life sentence. Failure was not an option. No wife of his would be executed as a common criminal.

"D'Ypagne, a word, if you please..."

The King had sent his gentlemen ahead and the manor's spacious hallway was deserted save for the two of them and his guards. "Your Majesty..." Roland promptly removed his hat and proceeded to bow until Louis signaled him not to bother.

"It has been brought to our attention that since the bride is no more virginal, there should be a witness in the nuptial chamber to attest the consummation." Louis paused expectantly and Roland dove in the opening.

"To be honest, Sire, I had planned to defer until we arrived on my lands. Considering my wife's past, I am worried she would be extremely distressed should I rush her into bed. A week-long trip in the confines of a coach will allow us to get better acquainted and mayhap assuage her fears." Roland regretted his words as soon as he pronounced them. The sovereign stiffened and the courtier braced himself for the rebuttal.

"Your scruples honor you, Monsieur, yet we must differ. As sullied as she is, we cannot in conscience release Mademoiselle de Brissard into your hands until your marriage is perfected, and therefore indissoluble in the eyes of our Holy Mother Church."

Short of insulting the King, Roland could only roll his mind's eyes. He wondered how Louis would react, were he aware of the method used to obtain her confession. Fortunately, he would never be. "I had no wish to contest it, Sire, and I will heed your Majesty's advice. I was merely concerned about the welfare of my wife, as a husband should be."

"Indeed. So you do agree you'll need witnesses?"

"Would a female servant suffice, Sire? To preserve my wife's modesty?" There was no doubt Sabine would fight as a wild cat if forced to perform in front of a crowd of male onlookers. He would spare her this if he could.

"In this case, I'm afraid not, though I am willing to limit the assistance to myself and our friend Bassompierre. We shall remain in the shadows. This will allow us to attest both the completion of your marriage and your manners in the bedroom. It should cut short any rumor that you mistreated ladies at our court."

"Of course, Sire, this would be suitable. I cannot, however, guarantee that my bride will be amenable to this, through no fault of her own. She has, quite understandably, developed an aversion for men. She might be unable to overcome it regardless of her will to obey."

Louis frowned. "Then you will use those skills Bassompierre raved about to subdue her. Use force if you must, within reason. Until she has served her sentence to our satisfaction, Mademoiselle de Brissard, though now Comtesse d'Ypagne, remains a criminal. She will comply, or be found in breach of its terms and forfeit her life."

There was no reasoning the King. Louis, married at fourteen to the princess of a kingdom he loathed and pressured into bedding his young queen forthwith, couldn't quite grasp Roland's reservations.

On second thoughts, there could be an unspoken motive. Bearing witness for the union of a Comte was far below anyone of royal rank. The d'Ypagne name, despite its shining record of service to a long line of French kings, wasn't near illustrious enough to warrant such an honor. The royal presence at his wedding was as high a favor as it would ever be.

Roland had thought it solely a matter of convenience, with Louis' usual reluctance to wasting daylight attending mass. Now it appeared more as an apology -or as close to one a Prince would get-, a 'buttering up' of a gentleman's pride before intruding on a most intimate moment.

Although it might not seem thus to Louis. His whole life was exposed for all to see, from the amount and consistence of his stools to the number of times he honored his queen. The whole kingdom was aware of the five years gap between his first two marital visits, the second featuring the King of France scooped up like a blushing bride and carried by his male favorite into his wife's bed. Louis had prepared for the event by sitting on the edge of his half-sister's nuptial bed, observing how things were done, but showed no will to put his knowledge to practice. By God's Grace, Luynes, for once, had shown some initiative, and they all prayed that soon the realm would have a much needed heir.

It had been less than four months, too early to tell. Perhaps Louis felt the need for more variety in the accomplishment of his dynastic duty? The choice of Bassompierre, a fine connoisseur of female charms, certainly pointed this way. In which case, humoring the King would be a matter of national importance, and Roland wasn't one to shy away from patriotic duty.

Still, he found himself in a bit of a conundrum. Sabine had yielded to his ministrations, due to her utter inexperience in proper lovemaking. His light touch didn't trigger the terrible memories she fought to keep at bay. He had seen her distress when forced to bring them forth, and he would happily eat his hat if the sight of his erect prick and the prospect of it ravaging her didn't turn her into a raving lunatic.

To be fair, Roland was usually quite partial to his lovers' crying, screaming, or begging, as long as they enjoyed it. They were powerful, depraved shrews who ought to be handed their comeuppance. But Sabine wasn't one of them. Two years ago, he might have sought her hand. She would have been the embodiment of the maiden he imagined as his bride. Now she lived for revenge, mind haunted and soul broken. For all her faults, she didn't deserve more violence, Louis be damned. She was delicate, his feisty little vixen. She needed a firm yet gentle hand. All he had to do was mend her.

Roland bowed mechanically at the King taking his leave, while he figured out how to handle the coming night. His decision made, he gave a list of instructions to his valet, retired to his chamber, and sank into his awaiting bath.

Chapter 11:

Roland stood and held a hand out for Sabine, kneeling on a cushion beside him. She rose, wide eyes glued to the monstrosity facing her, a four poster bed with dark red drapes, freshly blessed by the priest. Every hair on her body bristled at the prospect of approaching it.

She had once owned a similar piece of furniture. Sheets tainted with her blood.

Sabine blinked, overwhelmed by a sensation of déjà vu. This couldn't be. Her senses HAD to be deceiving her.

Air reeking with the stench of sweat and feet and leather and grime.

Rough voices jeering and hooting.

This was in the past. The brutes were gone. She had survived. Healed.

Her free hand crushed the damask of her robe as her sanity threatened to crumble. She was awake, living her worst nightmare.

Her groom's fingers tightened their grip, anchoring her in the present. The howling ghosts retreated beyond the thin line, where she could control them. She wasn't alone, and these men weren't assaulting her. Yet.

Roland quickly assessed the situation. His wife, frozen, a doe that caught the hunters' scent. Her gaze, darting at the door. Her posture, tensed and ready to bolt. Time to intervene.

Locking an arm around her waist, he firmly guided her to her side of the mattress, whispering in her ear in what could pass for an affectionate gesture. "Don't even consider it, ma belle. Running would cost your life. Wait for them to leave and we will talk. Now get in."

Closing any space for argument, he gallantly turned over the sheet and helped her remove her outer garment.

His ears burned in anger at the sight of the tenuous scrap of silk and lace that was Sabine's chemise. The translucent slip would have been suitable for an illicit encounter with one's paramour, or a courtesan in her trade. On his bride, it was a blatant insult, branding her as a woman of loose morals.

"Who the hell dressed you into this?" he hissed, urging her under the covers.

"The Baron's wife, she said I would put this on or go naked. I thought you had ordered it." She was mortified. The courtier's valet had entered the room as she was in her bath and chatted with the lady of the house. Sabine had assumed they were following her husband's instructions.

"You are my wife. I would never humiliate you so, especially not in public. I will have a word with this wicked witch before our departure."

Roland would have said more, had his ranting not risked dragging on this ridiculous ceremony. Instead, he kissed her fingers, stripped to his shirt, and lay beside her.

They didn't have to endure the ritual innuendos and heavy jokes for long. The King soon tired of waiting and dismissed his entourage. Taking place in an armchair, strategically situated to offer him an unobstructed view of the room, Louis signaled Bassompierre to use the low stool beside him.

At his signal, Roland's valet blew all unnecessary candles. As the corners shrouded in shadows, the lit bed and fireplace stood out as the scene of a theater, with Roland and Sabine as reluctant actors.

"Why are they staying?" Sabine asked under her breath, peering into the darkness. In this lighting, the room felt wrong, oppressive; she could swear the walls were moving close.

"They are here to ascertain consummation and the validity of our marriage. Bassompierre will also ensure His Majesty's safety, and answer any query he might have."

"What queries? And witnesses? Is it not enough that I am forced to do this? Do you have to make a mockery of it? I can't, I must, I must..." Sabine's head was spinning. She had to get out of this bed, this room, this house. She needed to be outside, in the fresh air...

She sat up and threw the covers away. One of her arms was stuck. She shook it frantically. Whatever held her wrist wouldn't give. It must be caught in the blanket. She HAD to free it. Grabbing the fabric, she jerked it, hard. It yanked back and she lost balance.

Her world rolled upside down. Bundled up in thick wool, she found herself lifted and carried to the day bed facing the crackling fire.

"I will chance the guess this bed doesn't please you, ma douce. No need to work yourself into this state. You could have asked..." Roland's tone was one of light amusement, and a touch of concern. That she was already so shaken didn't bode well for the remaining of the night.

Sabine struggled to escape the stifling cocoon. "You don't understand! I must go, let me go, please..."

The courtier held tight, letting her wrangle with the layers of cloth. He was painfully aware of the damage she could do when fighting her demons. "You will be restrained until you calm down. For the moment, I suggest you listen to me. Don't you want to hear the answers to your questions?"

His words cut through her turbulent thoughts and she slowly nodded. She did want to know.

"Good." Roland caressed her cheek and bent to peck her pert nose. She scrunched it up and shook her head. He had to clench his jaw to refrain from smiling. Cute, decidedly.

He kept his voice low. "Bassompierre is an expert where Louis is a novice: his marital duty. Watching us might teach our young King useful tricks, and the Marquis can clarify any technicalities. To his great loss, I am certain Louis' interest isn't at all lustful. My old friend will certainly be more appreciative..."

Sabine wiggled again and started to protest, and he shushed her. "Do not fret. Bassompierre does not gossip, he is the most discreet man at court. And he is smitten with his wife. Your privacy is safe with him."

"You call this privacy? We are the entertainment!" she groaned, and this time his smile broke out.

"Think of them as tapestries on the walls. What they saw, no one will ever hear. Ignore their presence and you will be fine."

Sabine glared at him. She wished it were so simple. Two men she disliked were going to ogle her while another one, whom she despised, would... She couldn't even bear picturing the scene. How was she to handle acting it?

Soft lips found the corner of her mouth, swiftly retreating when she threatened to bite them.

"My pretty caterpillar, you'll have to curb these rabid tendencies or you won't be allowed to spread your wings." He was chuckling now. Her indignant face was a sight to behold. And far more enticing than her terrified one.

"As for witnesses..." Roland regained his seriousness. This part was more sensitive; it had to come out right. "The premature loss of your maidenhood has two consequences..."

Sabine stiffened, and he took time to install her more comfortably into his lap, head resting on his shoulder, before pursuing. "On the bad side, you won't bleed. In the absence of this tangible proof, someone must testify of our coupling. On the good side," he added, gazing into her eyes, "you have already been breached. There shall be no discomfort for you tonight, only pleasure."

"Pleasure? How dare you lie so!" Sabine sputtered, "I know full well what kind of pleasure awaits me at your hands and I shall rather pass!"

"Is that so? If your memory is failing you, I ought to offer you a reminder..."

"This won't be necessary," she cut, voice trembling slightly, "do what you shall quickly so that I can get away from you."

"Sabine..." This wasn't a game anymore. There were tears in her eyes. He tilted her chin upwards. "Like it or not, we are married. You belong with me until death do us part. You will not get away from me. Ever. Your place is in my house, in my bed, and in my arms."

"You mean I am your prisoner and your whore, shackled to you and expected to open my legs whenever you see fit!"

Roland tilted his head, pretending to ponder his answer. "I will restrict your freedom until you prove trustworthy. As for the rest, I have told you before, I do NOT force ladies. EVER. You will always have a choice, however how limited. And why in the name of God would one who cannot tolerate the touch of men refer to herself as a whore?"

Her head swiveled away and he cupped her cheek to turn it back. "Tell me, ma douce. I won't judge, I promise."

Her eyes were drowning in sadness. Roland felt an irresistible urge to hold her, console her, take her sorrows away. But he couldn't, not there. Instead, he repeated: "Tell me."

She relented, sobs breaking her voice. "It was my fault. I let these men in. I must have done something to entice them. I should have fought harder. The priest said so. Those women earlier said so. They called me lewd and wanton, and they were right. You must think the same after how I reacted this morning. I behaved like a..."

"Woman. You behaved like a woman. A very innocent one at that. With more experience you would have resisted better." He sighed. "I have been at war, Sabine, I have seen how soldiers treat females in conquered lands. They will go as far as raping nuns in their convent. You were never at fault, and whoever suggests otherwise is a liar, an imbecile, or both." He would demand a sound lashing for these noxious wenches. He was a Comte and a Gentleman of the King's Chamber. Very few could insult his bride and go unpunished.

Sniffling, Sabine muttered: "I wish I could believe you. You said I didn't meet your standards."

Roland lifted an eyebrow; so it had stung. The statement, which hadn't been entirely honest, wasn't about her character. He could elaborate, but words might not convince her. Actions, though...

He leaned forward and kissed her. It was a mere brush of his mouth on hers, the fleeting touch of a butterfly's wings. Yet she jerked back from it, eyes wide with surprise. It suddenly dawned on him that he might have stolen her first kiss.

A silly grin threatened to split his face. This was one thing he could teach her without summoning her demons. A blank slate. He would take full advantage of it.

"Can we agree on a truce? Don't fight me on this and I promise to be a most gentle lover. I'll listen to your wishes and avoid or cease any action that upsets you. Would you find these terms acceptable?"

Slowly, Sabine nodded. Her tongue darted and licked her lips to erase the strange tingling. "What would it entail?" She wasn't thrilled to give him carte blanche with her body, there had to be a catch. The man had played a game of cat and mouse before.

"What you please. Do you have something in mind?"

"No, I... I was simply wondering... I have no idea..." She looked down at her chest, embarrassed at her own ignorance. Aside being manhandled like a ragdoll, she didn't know what might be required from her.

To Roland, her confusion was utterly charming. "There is nothing you need to do, you can simply lay back and enjoy if you so choose. I will, however, welcome your participation in our lovemaking, in any form you desire. Does it appease your mind?"