“Mayhap,” she murmured, but it was obvious by her tone that she was having trouble fathoming that possibility.
Sighing to herself, Eustice urged her into moving along the hall again, managing to get her to the small cell that had been Rosamunde’s room since childhood. Ushering the bemused girl inside, Eustice urged her to sit on the side of her tiny, hard bed, then turned to search through the girl’s small clothes chest for the dress Rosamunde had made to wear while taking the veil the next day. Coming up empty--handed, she whirled to frown at Rosamunde. “Where is your white gown?”
Rosamunde glanced up distractedly. “White gown? Oh, Sister Margaret offered to hang it for me, to let out any wrinkles.”
“Ah.” Nodding, Eustice turned toward the door. “Wait here. I shall return directly.”
Rosamunde watched the door close behind her friend and mentor, then sank back on the bed with a sigh. She was having difficulty absorbing what was happening. Just that morning, her life had been fixed, her path a comfortable, secure one. Now events had careened out of control, changing the course of her life, and she was not sure it was in a direction in which she wished to go. It looked as though she had little choice, however. Her father’s decisions were final.
So she would be married, to a man she had never met before, a man she had gotten only a fleeting glimpse of moments ago when her father had introduced them. She should have looked at him longer, but had found herself suddenly shy. It was a new sensation for her. But then she had had very little occasion to be in the presence of men during her life. The only men she had ever even met were her father; his servant and constant companion, Bishop Shrewsbury; and Father Abernott, the priest who ministered the Sunday mass at the abbey. The reverend mother said mass the rest of the week.
She had known a stable boy, several years before. But he had not been around long. A week, perhaps; then he had cornered her in a stall, and pressed his lips against hers. Too startled to react at first, Rosamunde had just stood there. By the time she had gotten over her surprise, curiosity and the beginnings of a sort of shivery pleasure had kept her from protesting. Much to her shame, she hadn’t even stopped him when he had covered one of her budding breasts with his hand.
Rosamunde had considered stopping him, knowing that anything that felt so wickedly interesting had to be a sin; everything fun did seem to be sinful, according to the sisters. But she did not know if she would have stopped him on her own, for Eustice had come upon them. One minute she had been wrapped in the lad’s enthusiastic embrace, and the next he’d been dragged away and was having his ears boxed. Eustice had then dragged Rosamunde off to lecture her: she must never let a man kiss and touch her so again. It was evil. Lips were for speaking, and breasts for milking—-and that was that.
The abbess had sent the stable boy away that very day.
“She did not look pleased at the news of her upcoming marriage,” Robert murmured.
Shifting on the bench seat where the nuns had seated the men to eat while they waited, Aric turned his gaze from the food he was unable to choke down—-despite how delicious it looked—-and peered at his friend. “Nay,” he agreed dismally.
“Well, mayhap ’tis just a result of surprise.”
Aric grunted with little conviction.
“She is quite lovely.”
Aric grunted again. He looked far from cheered by the news, and Robert sighed.
“Surely you do not fear she will be unfaithful? This girl was raised in a convent, man. She could not have learned the lying, cheating ways of a woman raised at court.”
Aric was silent for a moment, then shifted his position at the table and murmured, “Do you recall my cousin, Clothilde?”
“Clothilde?” He thought briefly, then laughed. “Oh, aye. The girl whose mother would not allow her sweets, lest she grow in size, or lose all her teeth ere she married.”
Aric grimaced. “Not a single sweet passed her lips ere her marriage, but they had a great tray of them at her wedding feast.”
“Aye.” Robert laughed again as he recalled the event. “She quite liked sweets once she tried them. As I recall, she nearly ate the whole tray all on her own.”
“She still likes them. Perhaps more so because she was deprived of them for so long. In the two years since her marriage, she has grown to six times her original size. She has lost three teeth at last count.”
Robert winced. “Do not tell me you fear your wife will grow overlarge and lose her teeth?”
Aric rolled his eyes, then sighed. “What is missing in a convent?”
“Well, I realize they can be strict in these places, but I am sure they have an occasional sweet or—-”