The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers by Anne O'Brien Read Free Book Online Page A

the eaves, and gestured with a scowl. In a shift and bare feet I followed her down the stairs. Opening the door to my husband’s bedchamber, she thrust me inside, still without a word, and closed it at my back. I stood just within, not daring to move. My throat was so dry I could barely swallow. Apprehension was a rock in my belly, and fear of my ignorance filled me to the brim. I did not want to be here. I did not want this. I could not imagine why Master Perrers would want me, plain and unfinished and undowered as I was. Silence closed ’round me—except for a persistent scratching like a mouse trapped behind the plastered wall.
    In that moment I was a coward. I admit it. I closed my eyes.
    Still nothing.
    So I squinted, only to find my gaze resting on the large bed with its dust-laden hangings to shut out the night air. Holy Virgin! To preserve intimacy for the couple enclosed within. Closing my eyes again, I prayed for deliverance.
    What, exactly, would he want me to do?
    “You can open your eyes now. She’s gone.”
    There was humor in the accented voice. I obeyed and there was Janyn, in a chamber robe of astonishingly virulent yellow ocher that encased him from neck to bony ankles, seated at a table covered with piles of documents and heaped scrolls. At his right hand was a leather purse spilling out strips of wood, and another smaller pouch containing silver coin. And to his left a branch of good-quality candles that lit the atmosphere with gold as the dust motes danced. But it was the pungent aroma—of dust and parchment and vellum, and perhaps the ink that he had been stirring—that made my nose wrinkle. Intuitively I knew that it was the smell of careful record keeping and of wealth. It almost dispelled my fear.
    “Come in. Come nearer to the fire.”
    I took a step, warily. At least he was not about to leap on me quite yet. There was no flesh in sight on either of us.
    “Here.” He stretched toward the coffer at his side and scooped up the folds of a mantle. “You’ll be cold. Take it. It’s yours.”
    Unlike Countess Joan’s cynical offerings, this was the first gift I had ever had, given honestly. I wrapped the luxurious woolen length ’round my shoulders, marveling at the quality of its weaving, its softness and warm russet coloring, wishing I had a pair of shoes. He must have seen me shuffling on the cold boards.
    “Put these on!”
    A pair of leather shoes of an incongruous red was pushed across the floor toward me. The shoes were enormous, but soft and warm from his own feet as I slid mine in with a sigh of pleasure.
    “Are you a virgin?” he asked conversationally.
    My pleasure dissipated like mist in morning sun, my blood running as icily cold as my feet, and I shivered. A goose walking over my grave. I did not want this old man to touch me. The last thing I wanted was to share a bed with him and have him fumble against my naked flesh with his ink-stained fingers, their untrimmed nails scraping and scratching.
    “Yes,” I managed, hoping my abhorrence was not obvious, but Master Perrers was watching me with narrowed eyes. How could it not be obvious? I felt my face flame with humiliation.
    “Of course you are,” my husband said with a laconic nod. “Let me tell you something that might take that anxious look from your face. I’ll not trouble you. It’s many a year since I’ve found comfort in a woman.” I had never heard him string so many words together.
    “Then why did you wed me?” I asked.
    Since I had nothing else to give, I had thought it must be a desire for young flesh in his bed. So if not that…Master Perrers looked at me as if one of his ledgers had spoken. Then he grunted in what could have been amusement.
    “Someone to tend my bones in old age, my dear. A wife to shut my sister up from nagging me to wed a merchant’s daughter whose family would demand a weighty settlement.”
    Ah…! I sighed. I had asked for the truth, had I not? I would nurse him and demand