Silent Knight. Tori Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ you like me to pour you some water?” she offered, making a move to do so. Marguerite merely tightened her grip on Celeste’s fingers.

      “Water? Do I look like a fish? Non, but that know-it-all Brother Cuthbert thinks I am!” She sniffed loudly. “He means to drown me at the first opportunity. But never fear, Lissa. He has met his match!”

      Celeste hid the smile that plucked at the corners of her lips. The unsuspecting brother had indeed encountered a formidable opponent, she feared, and she wished him all the courage he could muster. She suspected that Aunt Marguerite would sorely try the man’s patience, not to mention his sanctity, in the coming months, while she recovered from her injuries.

      “I shall miss you, ma petite, ” Marguerite said with surprising gentleness.

      Celeste swallowed back a tremor of sadness at these words. All afternoon she had tried to push away the idea of continuing on her journey alone. Now, in the depths of the night shadows, the reality of the situation had to be confronted, just as she had faced her fears of ghosts lurking in the dark corners of her home in the Loire valley. Celeste leaned forward and kissed her aunt on the cheek. Her skin felt cool and dry to the touch.

      “And I shall miss your chiding tongue, your scolding frowns and your many instructions concerning my deportment. La! I never thought I would say those words, dear Aunt, but they are true. You are a dear part of me.”

      Celeste banished a small sob that hovered in the back of her throat. She wouldn’t show weakness now. She had many miles to travel, alone in this inhospitable country, and she couldn’t let her aunt know how very frightened she was at that prospect.

      Marguerite squeezed her hand again. “Humphl You, spin a pretty tale by the firelight—almost as farfetched as those romantic ballads you love so much.” Her voice caught. “I believe I will have a sip of that marsh water, after all,” she said, brusquely waving at the pitcher.

      Celeste poured half a cup and held it out.

      The patient took it and sipped in silence. Celeste fidgeted with one of the embroidered roses on her yellow satin skirt. The candle sputtered, a thin wisp of smoke curling back onto itself as it rose toward the low plastered ceiling. After a strained silence, Marguerite handed back the cup.

      “Surely they must have wine in this place. I shall speak to that Brother Cuthbert about it. He shall know my mind on the subject by the terce bell tomorrow, I assure you!” Marguerite nodded to her niece.

      “I pray you have mercy on the poor man,” Celeste replied, pitying Brother Cuthbert even more.

      “Mercy?” Her aunt looked surprised at the very idea. “Lissa, am I not always the soul of understanding, tact and mercy?”

      Celeste cleared her throat. “So you have often told my sisters and me,” she countered as diplomatically as possible.

      “And so I shall be.” Another uneasy silence draped itself over them. Celeste made a move to leave, thinking her aunt needed to sleep, but the older woman’s grip remained firm around Celeste’s hand. “Sit still, child, for I have much to tell you, and there is so little time.”

      Puzzled, Celeste leaned forward. “Oui, Aunt? I am listening.”

      Marguerite patted her cheek. “You were always such a good girl. It is a pity that my brother was too pigheaded not to see it.”

      Celeste shifted uncomfortably on the hard stool. All her life she had tried to please her formidable father, to win his love with her cheerful banter and her singing, which everyone else said was sweet as a meadowlark’s on a May morning. Though it had never been spoken aloud, Celeste knew that she was far from the chevalier’s favorite daughter. “Papa has a great many things to attend to,” she murmured in his defense.

      “Bah! Let it be said plainly now, for I do not know when we shall meet again on this earth. Your father wished for a son, and when you, the fifth daughter, arrived, he was angered like a small boy who has been denied a promised sweetmeat. It is a scandal the way he has treated you—sending you off to this godforsaken place to be wed to a stranger who probably can’t even speak passable French!”

      Celeste stared into the candle’s flame, trying to conjure up the face of this unknown bridegroom. The picture of Lancelot in a book in her father’s library swam into her imagination.

      “The Ormonds are a noble family,” Celeste whispered to the flickering point of light. “Walter will possess the qualities of a fine lord, I am sure.”

      “Quit your woolgathering! ” Marguerite’s voice echoed around the tiny room. “This bridegroom of yours is not some pretty picture. He is a real man—and that is the nut and core of what I must tell you!”

      Celeste widened her eyes. She was not sure she wanted to hear whatever caused her aunt’s distress.

      “Do not alarm yourself so, dearest Aunt,” she murmured, though her own heart beat faster.

      “Ah, ma petite, I had thought there would be more time to speak of this later—before your wedding day. I promised your dear mama...” She ran her tongue across her lips.

      “More water?” Celeste offered, a flutter of panic tickling her throat. What on earth could it be that curbed her aunt’s usually tart tongue and sent such shivers of fright through Celeste?

      “Non, more words. Tell me truly, has anyone spoken to you of what passes between a man and his wife after they are married?”

      Celeste blinked at the surprising question. “Why, love passes between the two. With God’s blessing, it grows as the years go by.”

      Marguerite passed her free hand across her forehead, as if to wipe away the thought. “Sweet little fool! You have filled your mind with too many troubadours’ posies. Nay, I speak of the wedding night, when a man and woman lie together in bed. Have any of your sisters spoken of it to you?” Her voice held a note of hope.

      “Non. Why should they?”

      Marguerite blew out a long sigh. “I was afraid of this. It is no good to cosset young girls under glass, like delicate damask roses, then pluck them rudely out of their loving homes and expect them to enjoy it!”

      “Aunt Marguerite? What are you trying to tell me?”

      The lady squared her shoulders and seemed to grow larger against the pillows. “’Tis this and none other, child. On your wedding night, your husband will strip the clothes from your back, examine you as one does a horse for sale, then he will...he will...”

      Never had Celeste known her aunt to falter in the telling of anything. “He will what?”

      “He will unlace his tights, open his codpiece, and thrust his man-root between your legs, into the most private part of your body!”

      “Oh!” Celeste gasped as a hot flush rose into her cheeks. The scene painted by her aunt sounded appalling. “Surely this is a rude jest, Aunt. It is cruel of you to tease me so!”

      Marguerite’s lips trembled. “It is not a jest, but the plain truth. And you must let him do it, for that is his husbandly right. And I must warn you further.” Now that she had breached her initial embarrassment, there was no stopping the torrent of words that poured from her mouth as if from a rainspout. “You will experience pain СКАЧАТЬ