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"Use it for what?" he asked nonplussed.
"For the bedding," she explained, blushing brightly.
His gaze slid over her body in the contraption. It was quite simply a long shirt that appeared to be made of a very heavy material, and it covered every inch of her body. "How the devil am I to bed ye in that?"
"Oh, there is a hole," she said quickly and pulled the cloth around her hips tight, only to quickly let it go as she realized what she was revealing. Still, she'd held it long enough for him to see that there was indeed a hole several inches below the apex of her thighs . . . which he presumed he was to use for entry.
Shaking his head, he let his gaze slide over her again. The shirt had obviously been made for a much larger woman, that or someone had overestimated Annabel's size. He turned his eyes back to her face to see that she was blushing brightly and avoiding his gaze. Ross simply stared at her for several minutes, unsure how to react in this situation.
He had heard of the chemise carouse. It was intended to ensure that there was no pleasure accidentally found in the marriage bed. Because, of course, the church frowned on pleasure of any kind, but most specifically, sexual pleasure. Ross, himself, felt sex was healthy and natural and meant to be enjoyed, but he knew not everyone was that enlightened. It seemed his bride had been raised differently.
This was not a problem he had considered encountering, and frankly, he didn't have a clue what to do about it. There was no way on God's green earth that he intended to roll her over onto her back and simply thrust himself into her completely unprepared body. He would not do that to the wife of his worst enemy, let alone his own. They had to spend the rest of their lives together.
Besides, he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, and he liked for his partners to experience pleasure as well. He enjoyed hearing them gasp, and moan and groan. He liked to make them shake and tremble with it until they were pleading with need.
When Ross simply continued to stare at her, his wee bride shifted uncomfortably and then climbed back into bed next to him. She settled on her back without pulling the linen and furs up to cover the shirt, closed her eyes, and said stoically, "I am ready."
Ross surveyed her briefly, then shook his head and shoved aside the linens and furs covering him. Grabbing his plaid up off the floor, he wrapped it loosely around his waist and held it in place as he strode out of the room.
ANNABEL BLINKED HER eyes open with surprise at the sound of the door closing and frowned at the sight of the empty room. Ross had left. She supposed she should have been distressed, but she was mostly relieved. Annabel had heard the rustling and felt the shifting of the bed and had braced herself for her husband to mount her, but she hadn't exactly looked forward to it.
There had been half a dozen oblates like herself at the abbey, and a few novices, and perhaps not surprisingly the topic of sex had come up on occasion. As they'd scrubbed the stone floors, or cleaned the stables, they'd whispered about how lucky they were to avoid men, marriage and the marriage bed, for all knew it was a terrible trial for those unfortunate enough to land in it. The tearing of the veil of innocence was said to be a painful and bloody endeavor. One girl, much younger than her siblings, had been present at her sister's wedding and claimed that even the sounds of the revelry of the wedding feast hadn't completely covered the screams coming from her sister's room during the consummation that had followed the bedding ceremony.
They had all shuddered at this news, and agreed they were lucky to avoid that. Annabel had never imagined back then that she would be lying abed in a chemise carouse preparing to scream and bleed herself.
Grimacing, she tugged the linens and furs up to cover herself and then simply lay there fretting. Annabel had no idea where her husband had gone--probably to rejoin the revelry--but he would no doubt return. Perhaps he had gone below to find himself a drink or two to shore up his courage for what was coming, for surely if 'twas that unpleasant for the woman, it could not be much better for the man? That seemed a logical conclusion, but another one of the girls had claimed that if her father and brothers were anything to go by, men loved the carnal act, for they were forever chasing maids and cornering them to get under their skirts.
Annabel sighed at that memory. The unfairness of it all was rather depressing. Not only did men get to enjoy sex, which from all accounts was painful for the woman, but they didn't have to suffer monthly bleeding, or push huge babies out into the world from their own bodies, which was not only painful but often killed the woman. Truly, it did seem to her that women often got the short end of the stick in life.
The opening of the door drew her startled gaze and she watched wide-eyed as her husband returned with two goblets in one hand and two pitchers in the other. His plaid was now tied at his waist to allow it.
Annabel automatically started to get out of bed to help him, but a terse, "Stay," made her pause. She simply sat and stared at his very wide, very naked chest as he kicked the door closed and then carried the pitchers and goblets around the bed to her side. Ross set the pitchers and one goblet on the bedside table, and then poured liquid from one of the pitchers into the other goblet before holding it out to her.
"Drink," he ordered.
Annabel tore her gaze from his rippling chest to see that the goblet was full to the brim with honeyed mead.
"Thank you, but I am not really very thirsty, my--"
"Drink," Ross repeated firmly.
She frowned at the terse order, but accepted the goblet and raised it to her mouth for a sip.
"Down it, lass. 'Twill help with the bedding."
Annabel felt herself relax a bit at the added words. He was trying to be kind, anesthetizing her with the liquor before performing the painful and bloody deed. It was really very thoughtful of him, she decided, and swallowed down the liquid as quickly as she could, managing it in three large gulps. Annabel then set the goblet on the bedside table, only to watch wide-eyed as he immediately poured more from one of the pitchers.
"Are you not going to have some?" she asked self-consciously as she accepted the goblet he then offered her.
"Drink," was his only answer.
Annabel drank. She drank five goblets of the honeyed mead in a row, one after the other, but when he tried to give her a sixth, she shook her head, wondering why the room appeared to shake with the action.
"I really pobrably should not have more. Any more," Annabel corrected herself, frowning as she noted that her words were slightly slurred . . . and pobrably didn't sound quite right. She was pretty sure she'd got pobrably wrong.
"One more," Ross coaxed, pressing the goblet into her hand.
Annabel grimaced, but took the goblet and gulped some down. She'd made quick work of the first couple of goblets, but the more she drank, the slower she got at the chore. She simply wasn't thirsty. In fact, Annabel was the opposite of thirsty, she was beyond sated . . . to the point that she was beginning to have a terrible need to relieve herself of some of the liquid she'd taken in. She was actually growing rather desperate to visit the garderobe, but she was also embarrassed to name that need to the stranger standing half-naked before her.
Annabel's eyes slipped to his chest again, but she forced them away. They did seem to like to look at his chest and just kept doing so without permission. Certainly, if asked, she wouldn't have allowed them to wander all over that wide, naked expanse and follow the thickening hair down to where it disappeared under the plaid around his waist. Certainly not!
"Drink," he urged.
Annabel heaved out a breath and took another gulp. Honestly, she was beginning to wish he'd just get the bedding done with. Not that she was all that sotted. True, she was slurring her words a bit, but she wasn't feeling anything besides that . . . Well, other than the room's tendency to want to wobble around them, she supposed. But that was an issue with the room, not her.
A hiccup slipped from between her lips, and Annabel quickly covered her mouth, just in time to stifle an embarrassed giggle. Oh dear, she really had to pee. Would it be rude to simply announce that? Or should she just excuse herself and slip from the room? Certainly they didn't mention anything as crass as bodily functions at the abbey, but perhaps it was allowed outside the abbey. And what if she excused herself and he asked where she was going?
