hall while the contented men drank their health. They were both dressed in the finest silks and bullion, but Jehanne wore hers as if accustomed, and Galeran had never had such fine clothes in his life.
His dark hair was neatly trimmed. Hers had clearly never been cut. It rippled in a shimmering fall of pale gold silk down to her slender hips.
Coming from a dark-haired family, it seemed a marvel to him, but a marvel like lightning, or dragon-fire, or flood.
Dangerous rather than desirable.
His skin was dusky, for his family came not long ago from southern France, where the sun was hot. Jehanne's bloodlines were more northern.
Her translucent skin, smooth as fine, polished horn, lay neatly over delicate bones. Her red lips promised warmth, but her clear blue eyes were winter- cold.
She tossed her head, causing the golden silk to undulate like a live thing. "I wanted to many a man. Even your brother would be better than you."
"My brother preferred the Church." He hoped she caught the silent rider that it was now clear why.
Her lips tightened and she looked him over. "I'd think the Church would appeal to you too. You don't have the build of a fighting man."
That remark was enough to double Galeran's devotion to his military training. He knew he was small, but he had every faith that he would grow.
Perhaps he would never be as big as his father or older brothers, but he would grow. Surely he would soon be bigger than his wife. Despite his size, he already had considerable skill in swordplay and riding, and though scarcely acknowledging it, he set out to show Jehanne that she was not marrying a priest.
He enjoyed such exercise too, except when his bride-to-be came to observe.
She watched his sword work one day, then commented, "Your left arm is weaker than your right."
He turned, shaking sweat from his hair. "Everyone's is, including yours."
She smirked. "No, it isn't. I'm left-handed."
"Cursed, you mean," he retorted, referring to a common superstition.
She tossed her head. "Only by you, sirrah."
But as she walked away he turned back to his work, satisfied that he'd scored in that bout.
Perhaps that was why she changed tactics and waylayed him in the quiet of the stables. "Since we're to be married, Galeran, you had better kiss me."
He moved uneasily away. "I don't want to kiss you."
"Of course you do." She cocked her head and studied him with a slight smile. "Or is it that you don't know how to kiss?"
He felt the red rise in his face, "I know, but you shouldn't."
She laughed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then I'd never know if you did it right." Chameleonlike, she turned sultry and moved forward to lay a hand on his chest. "If you learn to kiss properly, Galeran, I might let you do more. ... Or is that what you're afraid of?"
She'd used perfume - something flowery, but spicy too - and it rose off her like a warning.
This new territory terrified him so much, he dodged away from her. "You speak wickedness. One day, Jehanne, I will beat you."
She laughed. ""You'll have to grow a bit first."
When he lunged for her, she danced away, still laughing at him. He could have caught her, but he came to his senses.
He might be her promised husband, but that didn't mean he had a husband's rights.
Yet.
The thought of husbandly rights led him to thoughts of husbandly duties.
The wedding was but four months away and Jehanne was right - he didn't know what to do. At least, he knew the facts, and had seen his brothers with a maid now and then, but he had no practical knowledge. He hadn't been much interested in women before his betrothal, and since then he'd been at Heywood. It didn't seem right, somehow, to dally with the maids in his wife's home.
But he did need some practice, and so he overcame his scruples and started to kiss the wenches who appealed to him. He found the business pleasant enough. It also introduced him to other joys - the soft feel of a woman's body, especially her breasts; the warm glow in her eyes when she was pleased; the sultry smell of a woman - so different from that of a sweaty man; the feelings in his own body, demanding more.
He didn't act on those demands - that still didn't seem right - but he often thought of visiting Brome, where he knew the names of some willing women.