Rinaldi's Revenge by Paula Marshall

Author:Paula Marshall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2002-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Elena woke up early, to find that she was not alone in her bed. Like Marco, her sleep had been so deep and her dreams so pleasant that at first she scarcely knew where she was and to whom the legs belonged which had become entwined with hers in the night.

Memory flooded back. She sat up sharply, reclaiming her legs and beginning to recall the abandonment with which she had behaved and the kindness which her new husband had shown to her. So that was what it was all about! Why the troubadours sang their songs, why the storytellers told of joy in the night—and often in the day—and why her ladies giggled in corners and followed the men with their eyes and teased them when they talked. How much of their talk, she wondered, had she not understood because, not having eaten of the apple, she had been innocent?

Moreover, she had been Duchess, and thus sacred and always alone. Her mother had died early and her nurse had been old and strict and had hushed her attendants whenever they had begun to speak of matters which she deemed unsuitable. After her father had died Beltraffio had become her guardian, and naturally, he had spoken little to her of the pleasures of the flesh.

All that the priests had done was to advise her to avoid them, which was a little difficult because she did not know what they were. Now she knew. The man lying beside her and who had begun to stir had taught her. Or, more accurately, he had given her her first lesson in love, for he had told her that there were more to come.

‘Wife,’ said Marco drowsily, ‘are you still with me?’

‘Yes, it is yet early and our attendants have not come to check whether…’ and Elena began to blush, for doing was one thing and talking about it another ‘…whether I was virgin when you made me your wife.’

‘Little doubt of that.’ Marco was his usual brisk self this morning. ‘For we have baptised the sheets with your blood. The nightingale certainly sang to some effect last night.’

Elena was bewildered. ‘The nightingale?’

‘Yes, the nightingale. It is a polite way of saying that men and women enjoyed the act of love together. If the nightingale sings all night, it means that they enjoyed it very much. Did the nightingale please you, wife?’

‘You know it did,’ she told him, her face one blush.

‘That being so, would you be prepared to oblige me again—and make the nightingale sing his song once more?’

‘Oh, yes,’ her reply was fervent. ‘So long as you oblige me, too.’

‘That I will,’ and he pulled her down to lie beside him and the whole delightful business began again and fortunate it was that they were in the aftermath of pleasure when the Chamberlain banged his staff on the door and a retinue of ladies and servants entered, to throw back the sheets and take them outside to display to all the world that Elena, once de’ Carisendi and now Rinaldi, had gone virgin to her bridal bed.

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