When Love Awaits

Chapter 8

LEONIE came to at the sound of Wilda's startled cry. She could have cursed the girl for rousing her to the pain.

"What they did to you, my lady!" Wilda wailed. "Your face is black and swollen. May they roast in the fires of hell! May the hand that dared touch you rot and fall off! May—"

"Oh, hush, Wilda!" Leonie snapped, trying to move her jaw as little as possible. "You know how easily I bruise. I am sure I look worse than I feel."

"Truly, my lady?"

"Bring me my mirror."

Leonie tried to grin to ease the girl's anxiety, but her jaw and her cracked and bloodied lips hurt too much to manage it. The polished steel mirror handed her confirmed that she looked like something trampled under the hooves of a great war-horse.

One of her eyes was swollen tightly shut, the other was a mere slit.

Blood had dried on her lips and chin and beneath her nose, but it was hardly noticeable against the deep blue-black bruises surrounding the whole of her face. She was loath to imagine what her chest and arms looked like, for Richer had not confined his blows to her head.

She was clothed as fully as she had been when Richer left her. And someone had kept Wilda from coming to her last evening, so she had not disrobed at all. She had, she guessed, lapsed into unconsciousness soon after Richer left, and not wakened since.

"I think I have looked better," Leonie said, setting the mirror down. "I thought he had broken my nose, but now I think it will mend—along with the rest of me."

"How can you jest, my lady?"

"Because it is better than crying, and that is what I will do if I think of what this beating accomplished."

"You will marry him then?"

"You know about it?"

"My lady, the horses are saddled and waiting. Everything is prepared and ready. . . except you."

Leonie would have given anything to stop this, but now that she had given her word, sworn on all that was holy as well as her mother's grave, she would have to marry Rolfe d'Ambert. It did not matter that the vow had been beaten out of her—she had said the words and she would have to abide by them.

Oh, how she wanted to cry. She had been so sure she could withstand Richer's hands, but she was wrong. He had slapped her again and again, and when, her cheeks scarlet, she did not cower or beg, he began using his fists. She had borne as much as she could, believing that the beating could not be worse than whatever the Black Wolf planned for her. But when she realized that Richer would kill her if he was not stopped, and that there was no one to stop him, she had given up. If her father could let this happen, he would not save her.

No one interfered. No one came, even when she screamed. She knew then that there would be no help, and so she did what she had to do.

Sir Guibert would kill Richer for her, but what good was that? The scum was only following her father's orders. And although she was choking in sorrow and hatred for her father, she did not wish for more violence. Therefore, she would have to conceal what had been done to her.

"Bring me my medicines, Wilda, then find me a suitable gown to be married in. I care not if my husband knows I was forced to wed him, but no one else is to know. Do you understand? Find me a veil, a dark one, and gloves, I think. I have had a recurrence of my childhood rashes, and there is no time to make the ointment to relieve it. Do you hear? That is what you will go and tell my aunt and Sir Guibert."

"But you outgrew those rashes."

"I know, but it is not impossible that I became so nervous about meeting my future husband that the rash reappeared. And it is also understandable that I would wish to hide it. Just make sure Sir Guibert believes the story. Do that now, then return and help me dress. And carry my medicines along to Crewel. I will have more need of them later."

Alone, Leonie put her head in her hands and sobbed. This day was going to be one horror after another.

For the swelling and bruises she applied a mixture of the marsh mallow root and oil of roses. For her nerves and the overall aching she drank a sedating syrup made from chamomile flowers. She would have taken a mixture of white poppy, but she didn't think she should fall asleep during the wedding ceremony.

By the time Wilda returned, Leonie was already feeling the effects of the sedative.

"You told Sir Guibert what I bid you?"

"Aye. He was most sympathetic and said he would himself explain to your husband the reason why you will be veiled. And your aunt began to cry. She wanted to come to you now but Lady Judith has kept her busy through the night and all morning. Why, I don't believe she has had any sleep."

"It is just as well. I do not want her to see me like this." Looking at her young maid squarely, she said, 'Tell me something, Wilda. Have you ever had a man?"

"My lady! I—"

"I will not scold you, Wilda," Leonie quickly assured her. "My mother died without preparing me, thinking she would have time for it later.

And I could not ask Aunt Beatrix about these things. I want to know what I will face today. Tell me."

Wilda lowered her eyes, speaking softly. "It will be painful the first time, my lady. It is the tearing of your maidenhead that causes the pain and the bleeding that will be displayed on your sheets the next morning.

But it is not a great pain and is quickly over. Afterward—is most enjoyable."

"Truly? The other girls at court said it was horrible."

"They lied. Or they repeated what their mothers told them." She shrugged. "For some women it is always painful because they believe it is a sin to enjoy it. But as long as you have some feeling for your husband—

" Wilda gasped, realizing her blunder. "Oh, my lady, I am sorry. I know you have no liking for the man."

"So I am doomed always to feel pain? But he has no liking for me, either, so perhaps he will not bother me often. I thank you for telling me, Wilda."

Leonie told herself to stay calm. She could not go to Crewel trembling in dread. If he hoped to see her cower, he had much to learn about Leonie of Montwyn.