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for the fact that she was so anxious.

What with the conversation she had with her aunt and Ducky that morning, Helen was as nervous as the virgin she was, and her husband's constant retreats were not helping much with her anxiety. Not to mention the discomfort and embarrassment. Lying here on the bed, splayed out and awaiting his pleasure, was humiliating. Helen was not used to being passive... in anything.

She glanced toward the door again, her mind considering what was to come. What her husband's...

She couldn't help but wonder what it looked like. She had a vague idea, but she hadn't had the sense to look on their wedding night now, she wished she had. How big was it; she wondered. The concern seemed a valid one. The man had colossal shoulders. Was his... was it just as colossal? Her legs slid together at the thought. She wished he would get this damn act over with. It was like awaiting stitches, or having a tooth pulled.

A rattle from the door warned of Hethe's return, and Helen promptly fell back on the bed. She heard the door open but refused to look up. Perhaps if she pretended she wasn't here and this wasn't happening...

"Sweet Jesu!" she shrieked suddenly, scrambling up the bed as a masked figure stepped up before her.

"It is I, Lord Hethe," it said. The muffled voice slightly ruffled what she saw was a strip of linen tied around the figure's head.

Helen merely stared. Surely her husband did not intend to wear that while he... Dear Lord, yes, he did.

Biting her lip, she immediately dropped her head.

"This was Stephen's idea," he explained, untying the laces of his breeches and beginning to shove them down. "This way, your smell should not prevent the... You are trembling. Your shoulders are shaking.

Do not be frightened; I will not hurt you."

Helen managed to subdue the dismayed laughter making her body shake, and she raised her head. The first thing she saw was his manhood, and it had a detrimental effect on her composure. She had been so terrified all day, so frightened of the object before her that actually seeing the wrinkled little bit of flesh sagging between his legs now was rather anticlimatic. She was expecting something huge, something terrifying. But, nay... This was the great hog? This could cause her damage? "Not bloody likely," she muttered aloud and burst out in gales of rather hysterical laughter.

Catching the stricken look that immediately filled Hethe's eyes, she tried to stem the flow of her amusement, but really, she had been so tense and anxious for so long, she could not seem to stop the sudden outpour.

"I am sorry. Truly," she gasped out as sincerely as she could while laughing uproariously. "It is just that you look - " Her voice died on a sigh as he tugged his breeches up and whirled away from the bed with disgust.

Chapter Thirteen

Hethe stormed across the room toward the fireplace. He could not do this. How was he supposed to do this with her laughing? With her smell? Not to mention that blasted rash. Every time he looked at her red, blotchy skin, guilt consumed him - and annoyance. And both had a detrimental effect on an erection, it seemed. He had never considered it before.

Pausing by the fire, he turned to face her, half expecting to find her gloating and triumphant at her success in preventing the consummation. Instead, his wife looked absolutely miserable. Her laughter had died, leaving her sitting forlornly on the bed, her nose wrinkled against her own smell, and her hands clenched in her lap - probably to keep from scratching the angry red rash covering her. For some reason, the wrinkled look of displeasure on her face reminded him of the old hag Maggie. Of the fact that he hadn't looked into that matter yet.

Sighing, he sank into one of the chairs before the fire, his mind wandering to the old woman and her accusations. She claimed to be from Holden, but he didn't recall her. Still, that didn't mean much. He was never here. What he did recall, though were her bitter words about him burning old ladies out of their homes.

Restless, Hethe frowned, got to his feet and strode to the door. He pulled it open abruptly and started to step into the hall, but he was immediately confronted by Templetun, who stepped out of the shadows. It appeared the old man had followed him upstairs, this time.