women find it very comforting to share such closeness with their husbands.”
Isabella had listened in growing surprise, not expecting them to use such bland, benign phrases for an experience so awesome. She opened her mouth to offer a far more vivid and compelling description of love-making, but caught herself in the nick of time, suddenly comprehending the reason for their caution.
Anna was disappointed, hoping for more specific answers, but she saw this was all she was going to get and, after a few moments, she wandered off with Alicia, who was obviously impressed by her friend’s boldness, for they were soon giggling together. Once the girls were out of hearing, Isabella leaned closer and lowered her voice. “At first I could not understand why you both were being so reticent, so reluctant to tell her the truth, but then I—”
“Reticent?” Joanna echoed, genuinely puzzled. “I was truthful with her, Isabella. It is important that young girls know it is not a sin to find pleasure in the marriage bed. If they are not told that by other women, they may pay heed to the wrong voices, to those who would have them believe that the loss of their virginity is to be mourned even within the sacrament of marriage. From childhood, they hear our priests preach that not even God can raise up a virgin once she has ‘fallen.’ Little wonder so many girls go to their marriage beds in such dread. Far better that Anna or Alicia should listen to us than to—”
“A Padre Domingo,” Berengaria interjected, and she and Joanna exchanged smiles, as if sharing a private joke.
Isabella was embarrassed now that she understood the magnitude of her mistake, and she was not sure what she was going to say if they questioned her about her “reticent” comment. Fortunately at that moment, Joanna cried out, “Anna! You and Alicia are too close to the roof’s edge.”
“There are men coming up the Jaffa Road, lots of them!” Anna shaded her eyes, balancing on tiptoe as she strained to see the distant banners, and then she turned back toward the women with a radiant smile. “It is Malik Ric!” Adding for Isabella’s benefit, “And your husband, too!”
ISABELLA WAS SOMEWHAT self-conscious about disrobing before Henri, for in the six weeks they had been apart, her body had changed dramatically, at least in her eyes. Her face seemed fuller, her slender ankles no longer so slender, her breasts larger than they’d ever been, blue veins vivid against the fairness of her skin. She supposed that many women felt like this as their pregnancies advanced, wondering if their husbands would continue to find them desirable. But few of them went to their marital bed carrying another man’s child. Would Henri still be able to see the woman behind that distended belly?
Her ladies had undressed her and she was already in bed when Henri entered. He was obviously eager to be alone with her, but he still took the time to greet her women courteously before he ushered them out; she’d been struck by his good manners from the time of their first meeting, when she was still Humphrey’s wife. Watching as he stripped with flattering speed, she felt desire stirring at the sight of his naked body. She’d been more fortunate than most women, for she’d been wed to three uncommonly handsome men, but she’d never wanted Humphrey or Conrad the way that she wanted Henri, and had since their first kiss upon the roof of the archbishop’s palace. She’d gloried in their love-making during their brief time together, experiencing sensations that were new and overwhelming, and she caught her breath when he turned, for he was offering indisputable physical proof of his need for her.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice husky. “No troubadour or trouvère would ever praise flaxen locks again after seeing you with your hair loose, flowing down your back like a midnight river.”
As he slid into bed beside her, she put her hand upon his chest, over his heart. “Thank you for that, Henri, for making me still feel desirable. I’m as swollen as a ripe melon, and I was not sure you would—”
She got no further, for he stopped her words with a kiss. “Melons,” he said, “are my favorite fruit.” He was nuzzling her throat, his breath warm on her skin. “But is it safe for the baby . . . ?”
“I asked the midwife,” she assured him, “and she said it was quite safe