Outside the cathedral, Henry faced her and brought her hands to his lips. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Now we have an empire to rule and a dynasty to raise.’
His words could so easily have sounded like the overblown bragging of an immature boy, but they didn’t. It was a serious statement of intent and she shivered with excitement, because standing on the cathedral porch in this moment, all things seemed possible.
She beckoned and a servant stepped forward and set a hawking gauntlet on her wrist. Her chief falconer presented her with one of the snowy Talmont gyrfalcons. ‘You have your glove?’ she asked Henry.
He looked round and Hamelin handed him the one Alienor had sent with the letter of proposal. Henry drew it on and Alienor transferred the gyrfalcon carefully to his wrist.
‘This is Isabella,’ she said. ‘I gift her to you as a symbol of our marriage. Only the rulers of Aquitaine have the right to fly these birds.’
Henry stroked the gyrfalcon’s pale breast with a gentle forefinger. ‘Isabella,’ he said, and gazed at the bird with delight and desire. Those emotions were still in his eyes as he turned to Alienor.
‘The females are more powerful than the males,’ she said, not showing him how much his look moved her.
‘Is that so? It is a good thing that I have a way with such noble creatures then,’ he said with a half-smile.
She raised her brows. ‘I shall be interested to see your way.’
Henry bowed. ‘I hope not to disappoint, madam.’
She tilted her head. ‘I hope not too.’
Henry was attentive to Alienor throughout the wedding feast. Sharing his trencher with her, he displayed competent carving skills and sound table manners. He was full of smiles and amiable words for everyone, but with the controlled dignity of a magnate. He also drank in moderation and Alienor was glad. She had seen what happened to young men in their cups and did not want to deal with the consequences on her wedding night.
‘What is England like?’ she asked him. ‘I have always thought of it as a cold land steeped in fog.’
‘It can be,’ he replied. ‘When you get the sea mist they call haar rolling in, then it is like being at the end of the world, but all the moisture and rainfall makes it green and lush.’
‘And that is supposed to recommend it to me?’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘It is the land of King Arthur too. There is a legend that Christ himself walked there in his young manhood. The smell of England is fresh and coastal. Its people are hardy but it is no colder than here in the winter. The English have a strong administration and judicial system and it has much wealth in wool. When my grandsire Henry was king, it was a prosperous nation. Stephen of Blois has squandered it all, but if it was husbanded properly, it could once again become a great asset.’ His expression hardened. ‘My parents strove throughout my childhood to keep alive my claim to England and Normandy. I shall not negate all their toil and I shall prevail over the usurpers.’
Alienor had not seen him so vehement before; he had guarded his emotions up to now, and this new side to him intrigued her. ‘It is a great undertaking,’ she said.
‘Indeed.’ He drew back a little, once more becoming the courtier. ‘That is why I need an exceptional wife to stand at my side and bear sons who will take the dynasty forward.’
‘I gave Louis only daughters.’
He shook his head. ‘The giving of daughters was all his. I shall give you sons, there is no question of that, and our empire shall stretch from the borders of Scotland all the way to the Pyrenees, and our influence shall be felt far beyond that, for my kin sit on many thrones, including that of Jerusalem.’
She noted his arrogance, but she believed him too, and anticipation flowed through her veins like warm wine.
The bedding ceremony was formal and dignified without boisterous jests. This was a duke and duchess being escorted to their chamber and dynastically and politically a serious matter. One or two people were rowdy with drink but were contained by the others. Pale pink rose petals strewed the bedsheets and green garlands festooned the canopy posts. Wine and light refreshments stood on a cloth-covered small table near the bedside, and the room was well lit by candles and lamps burning scented oil.
Alienor and Henry were each undressed behind screens by their attendants before being brought to each other clad in chemise and nightshirt. The Bishop bound their hands again with a stole as he had done at their marriage to symbolise their union, and blessed them, signing the Cross between their brows with holy water. The bed was liberally sprinkled with the same and Alienor and Henry placed together in the bed. Then the guests left and they were alone.
Henry faced Alienor and touched her hair. ‘It is the colour of a Roman coin,’ he said, bringing a handful to his face to breathe in the scent. ‘It smells like a flower garden strewn with spices. I have wanted to do this all day.’
Alienor leaned towards him. ‘You will not find this perfume anywhere else,’ she whispered. ‘It comes all the way from Jerusalem.’
Their lips were almost touching. His hand left her hair and lightly brushed her throat. ‘It intoxicates me,’ he said. ‘You are so beautiful.’
It was balm to her soul to hear him say that. She slowly unfastened the ties on his shirt. ‘And you are a young lion,’ she said softly.
He drew away to pull off his shirt and for the first time she saw his body. He was lithe with youth but now she realised where he got the strength to command a powerful warhorse to his will, and to hold his own with his men. He was indeed a young golden lion with broad shoulders and a toned flat belly. A light fuzz of red-gold hair formed a pectoral cross from his chest, running in a soft stripe into the rolled-over waistband of the braies he was wearing under the shirt. Suddenly Alienor’s mouth was parched while other parts of her body were soft and ready with need. It was lust, not love, and yet it was more than lust because it was sanctified by the Church and they both had a duty to see their union successfully consummated.
He took her face in his calloused palms and kissed her. His beard was soft and his lips were softer still. She returned the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. He reached down to the hem of her chemise and drew it over her head. Through his braies, she could feel the heat and strength of his arousal.
She made a move of her own because she had had enough of passivity with Louis and needed to exert her will as an equal. She kissed Henry’s upper chest and then lightly bit the tight stub of his nipple. Henry gasped and thrust against her. The buck of his hips was wildly erotic with only that layer of light linen fabric between skin and skin. She moved to his other nipple and then back up to his throat. He kissed her again, harder this time, more assertively. She reached to the drawstring of his braies, unfastened them and rolled them down over his hips; and then she gasped because he was magnificent, and far bolder than Louis’s half-mast efforts.
Henry gave a congested laugh. ‘I am ready and willing to do my duty if you are ready to do yours.’ He nuzzled his beard against her throat. Now it was his turn to nip and suckle and Alienor felt as if she was drowning in lust. He rolled on top of her and she took him in her hand, to feel all that wild young vigour. Henry shuddered and closed his eyes, and she looked at him, trying to judge how close he was, and if he would last. Without more ado she guided him into her body and welcomed him.
He gasped as she closed around him, and she could feel him trembling. He raised himself on his forearms for a moment, holding very still, and then he lowered his head and kissed her face, her throat, her neck. She ran her hands over his sides, feeling the curve of his ribs and the muscular arch of his buttocks.
He began to move. Alienor had expected him to be swift to the finish, but he exhibited both restraint and stamina. When he finally claimed her mouth and thrust hard and strongly, he took her over the edge and she clung to him, nails digging into his biceps, legs clasped around his as he gave her his seed.