Page 30 of The Raven and the Rose
Roseanna realized that he might be speaking the truth, but she hotly defended Rebecca nonetheless. “Only because you are repulsed by fat women, you young lecher!”
“Be fair, sweet sister. Have I ever been lecherous with you, tempting morsel that you are?” As her mind flew back to that day in the woods when he took her to the hunting lodge, he grinned. “From the first moment I saw you, I meant you for Roger. I admit freely that you are the prettiest woman I’ve ever known.”
How could she hate this young devil when he said such pleasing things? “Ah, Roseanna, I didn’t know what happiness was until I married.” She looked surprised. “Then it was too late,” he whispered. She laughed in spite of herself.
No sooner did Tristan return her than she was claimed in the dance by the King, then by her father, then by her brother and every nobleman present. Roger lounged back in his chair, playing the indulgent bridegroom. He was relieved, mostly for Roseanna’s sake, that her young swain was conspicuous by his absence.
Gradually, Roseanna became aware that her husband’s eyes were following her wherever she went. Why did he watch her like a dog with a bone? Suddenly her wicked juices, as Kate Kendall called them, began to bubble, and she decided to do something to goad him and wipe the complacent look from his face. She was dancing with young John Stafford, an earl of the realm. He could hardly believe his luck that she had favored him with two dances.
Suddenly she leaned against him and whispered into his ear, “You dance divinely; my last partner had all the grace of a spavined cart horse.” He threw back his head and laughed. Then she said, “Ravenspur is watching us with interest.” Immediately young Stafford’s eyes flew across the room to where the baron sat. She calculated that it would seem as if the two of them were sharing a secret joke at her husband’s expense. The little ploy backfired as Stafford murmured, “I’ve just received a signal to return you to your bridegroom. He doesn’t look amused.”
“Oh, good,” she said sweetly.
“In fact he looks vastly displeased.”
“Better and better,” said Roseanna, laughing.
Stafford returned her to Roger and bowed himself away. Ravenspur’s dark eyes grew intense when he saw her flushed and lovely. “You enjoy dancing, Roseanna.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked sweetly. “I know older men don’t care to dance.” She saw a muscle tighten in his jaw, and her wicked juices bubbled deliciously. He stood up to partner her, and suddenly he grinned. “Are you trying to provoke me to see if you can bring out the savage in me?” he asked low. Then his hands reached inside her wide sleeves and slipped up her bare arms. The gesture was so intimate, she gasped and then shivered. As he swept her into the dance, he laughed down at her. “You like to play teasing games. ’Tis a fine art, and a game two can play. I think I am going to be well pleased with you, Roseanna.” By the time the dance was over, she was quite breathless. She sank into a little curtsey and went into the arms of her next partner, but she was careful to act with decorum this time.
It was inevitable that the jokes turned bawdy and then downright lewd. Ribald songs began; Roseanna tried to close her ears to the refrain, “I dipped my pole in Eve’s deep hole.” She turned from the singing man in disgust and advanced toward the King. Ned had his great arm about Roger’s shoulders and was singing, “He worked hard all the night and fucked till it were light.”
Ravenspur caught the look of panic on his bride’s face and extricated himself from the King’s embrace. “I think we’ll go up now, Ned, and for God’s sake, spare us a royal bedding.”
Edward winked at Roseanna. “Have to obey the damned fellow. He’d think nothing of running me through.”
Ravenspur swept his arm around her waist to help her through the throng. She clapped her hands over her ears as they sang, “Her font I longed to lick, to strengthen up my prick!”
They maneuvered the corridors and staircases rapidly, hoping no one would follow. She was relieved that Ravenspur knew his way around, for she would have become hopelessly lost if left to her own devices. He opened a door to a large and sumptuous chamber, where she found Alice and Kate Kendall awaiting her. They dropped into a deep curtsey and murmured, “Good evening, Baron Ravenspur. Good evening, baroness.”
“Don’t call me that! I hate it!” said Roseanna.
The room was oval-shaped, with a painted ceiling of shepherdesses, lambs, cherubs, and clouds. Pale blue curtains swept down from the clouds and were fastened to the four ornate gilt posts of the bed. A fire was banked in the white and gold fireplace, and blue brocade couches sat on either side of it. Tall gilded candlestands holding clusters of twenty candles each stood on each table, along with a liberal supply of wine and sweetmeats. One wall was covered by an immense tapestry that continued the pastoral scene of sweet shepherdesses; another wall displayed paintings in heavily gilded frames; and the third wall had two long windows with brocade curtains drawn over them. The floor was covered with a deep-piled rug that felt like blue velvet.
Roseanna had never seen anything so fine. Her mother loved beautiful things but could never afford this kind of luxury.
Ravenspur said behind her, “The King honors you. These rooms are usually reserved for the Queen.”
Suddenly the chamber door burst open, and two dozen people spilled into the room. They were laughing and joking and were led by Tristan and the King; they were intent upon a bedding. The men grabbed Roger, tossed him into the air, and began divesting him of his garments with ribald suggestions. Luckily their noisy laughter prevented most of the lewd words from reaching Roseanna’s delicate ears.
The women surrounded Roseanna and urged Joanna and her maids to strip her of her wedding finery. Roseanna looked accusingly at her mother. “How could you?” she cried.
“Darling, a wedding is for fun and games. They won’t be denied. They demand proof that you go to your bridegroom unblemished, and I am proud to show them that it is so.”
The color drained from Roseanna’s face and she went rigid as Alice, Kate, and Joanna began to undress her. Alice was blushing furiously, while Kate’s eyes held hers for a moment to convey a look of pity. Then she shrugged and with nimble fingers slipped the gown from her mistress’s body, thinking the sooner they got this over with, the better it would be for Roseanna.
They didn’t stop at her shift but stripped her of stockings, garters—everything. The noisy laughter hushed as she stood naked before the assembly, and she quickly turned her back upon them. Her dark hair fell to the backs of her knees and shielded her from everyone’s eyes, but Joanna reached out and lifted the sable tresses to show her creamy back and long, slim legs. In an instant Kate slipped the white silken robe over her nakedness. Roseanna stood stiffly with downcast eyes, the material clinging to the outline of her upthrust breasts. The virgin was deemed ready to be taken by her bridegroom, the raven.
On the other side of the room there was a commotion. Roger was demanding his black velvet bedrobe and was told it was nowhere to be found. They made a pretense of hunting for it, but Roger knew that Tristan’s fine hand was in on this plot and that the robe would not be forthcoming. He was being urged to “have at” his bride; the men began to jostle him toward Roseanna.
The women tried to lead her to the bed, but she stubbornly refused to move. “No, no!” she cried firmly. Then her eyes met his, and he was stabbed to the heart with her mute look of appeal.
Demands of “Bed her! Bed her!” assaulted their ears. Roger knew they would not leave without at least a token display on his part.
“Time you slid your great sword into her sheath!” cried one. “Put your yard up her!” bellowed another.
Roger turned to the King. “When I make my move, get them out of here!” Then, magnificently naked, he strode toward Roseanna. Her eyes traveled the length of him, lingered a moment on his sex, then blushingly lifted to his determined face. He embraced her with strong arms and dipped his dark head to find her soft mouth. Her lips met his with a sob, and he whispered, “My sweetheart, it will be over in a minute.”
