“You still have not warmed to the idea,” he said after a moment. “Not that I blame you. I’m not sure I have, but you and I are just small pieces of a larger game. There are those who control this game, and they tell us what must be done to make it complete. If you could save the lives of your men by a marriage, wouldn’t you?”
She wouldn’t look at him. “As you said, it does not matter what I think,” she said. “I am going to be forced into this whether or not I want it.”
“Are you opposed to marriage in general?”
Was she? No, she wasn’t. But what Curtis didn’t know was that she’d been married once before, to an old man. He’d been a friend of her father’s, and at the tender age of thirteen years, she had been wed to him. Cadwalader ap Dai had been a very nice man, and very important to her people because he was part of the royal house of the ancient kingdom of Gwent. Elle’s father had hoped that his daughter would breed a new generation of royals for Gwent, which would, in turn, become an ally to Powys. Cadwalader had been kind and gentle, but mating between them had been a nightmare because his manhood would barely become stiff enough to complete the task.
That was all Elle knew of relations between a man and a woman.
She had been young and impressionable, and Cadwalader had been old and shriveled. She could still see that wrinkly body and smell the scent of an elderly man who wasn’t fond of bathing. He’d touched her as if he were afraid of her, and whenit came time to consummate the marriage… Elle had found it uncomfortable and embarrassing.
Fortunately, Cadwalader had no real interest in his young wife, and Elle always received the impression that he was fearful of her somehow. It only occurred to her after his death that she represented his inability to perform as a man, because he rarely touched her, and when he did, it was yet another uncomfortable and embarrassing situation. When they’d been married six months and she wasn’t pregnant, Cadwalader told his men that she was barren to save himself the embarrassment of admitting he couldn’t perform well enough to impregnate her. It wasn’t as if Elle could dispute him. When he finally died eight months into their marriage, she did her best to forget about a man who had been completely forgettable.
But here she was, anticipating a marriage again, but not without great reluctance. Her only experience with it had been a poor one, and she’d managed to convince herself over the years that Cadwalader couldn’t become properly aroused because she wasn’t particularly attractive. Curtis had no idea what he was getting into. Perhaps he needed to know, for his own sake.
Trouble was, she was so embarrassed about it that she could hardly bring up the subject.
“I suppose I am opposed to marriage in general,” she finally said. “I simply do not want any part of it.”
“Why not?”
She swallowed hard. “Because… because men do not like me, and I do not like them,” she said, which was a lie. She did like men, but to admit she did, when they didn’t like her, was shameful. “I do not want to marry a man simply so he can tell me what to do. I do not need to be ordered about.”
Curtis sat back in his chair, scratching his cheek. “That is a very narrow view of marriage.”
“How would you know?” she said. “Haveyouever been married?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Why? Have you?”
He’d asked the fateful question.If you break my trust, I will never give it again. Those words were ringing in her head. Her relationship with the man was difficult anyway. She didn’t want to add mistrust to the mix, because it would make it miserable for the both of them. She simply wasn’t willing to lie to him.
She hoped she wouldn’t die from embarrassment.
“Aye,” she said, barely audible. “I have.”
That changed his whole mood. He set the quill down, staring at her as if she’d just said something surprising. “Youhave?” he asked.
She nodded, but didn’t say anything more. She told him she’d been married, so she hadn’t lied to him. But, God help her, she didn’t want to elaborate. She’d never spoken of it, not during or after everything happened. It was a humiliation she kept buried deep inside, and she was damn well not going to confess it to a Saesneg.
To Curtis.
But he wasn’t going to let her admit something like that and not tell him the entire story. Standing up, he picked up his chair and brought it over to where she was sitting. He plopped the chair down about two feet in front of her and sat on it, facing her.
“You will tell me everything,” he said quietly. “When were you married, and to whom?”
He was being surprisingly gentle. She had expected him to be irate with the news, but he wasn’t. He was being quite calm and… kind, even. Elle wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.
“It… it was a long time ago,” she said, hardly above a whisper. “You must understand that I am the last of my line. Other thanGruffydd, there are no other sons or daughters of Gwenwynwyn ap Owain. Legitimate ones, that is.”
He nodded patiently. “I understand,” he said. “Go on.”
She couldn’t look at him. “He was the last of a royal house of Gwent,” she said. “He was very old and I was very young. We’d not yet been married a year when he died.”
Curtis studied her for a moment. “No children?”
“No children.”
“Was the marriage consummated?”
