by Lynsay Sands
"Get on the bed," he ordered, and her head snapped up in surprise.
"On the bed, my lord?" she asked with amazement.
Aric nodded. "On your hands and knees as you were the day we married."
Rosamunde hesitated, her gaze shifting to the bed and back before she asked uncertainly, "Are you going to punish me for dirtying your shirt, my lord?"
"Oh, aye," he assured her with a gleam in his eye she suddenly recognized. "But I promise you will like it. Get on the bed."
His voice was like warm honey, and it, along with his expression and his words, caused an immediate tingling in Rosamunde. Turning away at once, she moved to the bed and crawled atop it, positioning herself on her hands and knees there as she had the day of their wedding. Oddly, she felt ten times more vulnerable than she had then; she was completely naked this time. She felt the bed sink behind her. Glancing back, she saw Aric kneel behind her and move forward, urging her knees farther apart. He shifted between them until his abdomen gently bumped her behind.
Recalling the painful debacle of their wedding day, Rosamunde cleared her throat uncertainly. "Are you sure you would not rather do it the right way, my lord?"
"The right way?" he inquired, his hands gently clasping her hips. "Who says this is the wrong way? Surely God's creatures cannot be wrong, can they? Think of cats, and cows, and horses," he teased lightly.
"W-well," Rosamunde began uncertainly. "Aye, but that other time--"
"That other time we left out some good bits."
"Good bits?" she asked uncertainly.
"Aye. For instance, there is this." Sliding his hands forward past her waist, he urged her to straighten until she knelt before him upright, he drew her back until she rested against his chest. "And this," he whispered into her ear, one hand sliding up to catch and caress one suddenly aching and swollen breast. The other slid down over her tummy, then farther to cover her womanhood and press softly against it. "There are important bits, and you would not let me include them the first time."
"Oh, aye." Rosamunde gasped, then gave a breathless laugh. Her body unconsciously arched, which pressed her bottom snugly against him and thrust her breast forward into his hand. "I thought you were trying to milk me like a cow."
"I am trying to milk you," he whispered by her ear. "But not like a cow."
"Then how?" She moaned as he began to nibble and lave the ear he had been speaking near.
"I am trying to milk pleasure out of you."
"Ohhhh." The word came out on a shudder as he slid his fingers between her legs. "Oh, my lord."
"Say, my name," he instructed, fondling the nubbin he found at the apex of her thighs.
"Ooohhh, Aric," she said softly.
"Again."
"Aric." She gasped as he slid a finger into her, one hand lifting to touch his head.
"Again," Aric said, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand, then stiffening slightly and gasping as her other hand slid back between them, feathered across his thigh, then found and clasped his manhood.
"Aric," she said huskily, her tone low and throaty this time.
Groaning as her fingers tightened around his manhood, Aric thrust his finger into her again, more aggressively this time.
"My lord?" she gasped, shifting her legs farther apart of her own accord and curving into his touch.
"Aye?"
"I think..."
"You think?" He moaned as her hand began instinctively to stroke down his hardened arousal.
"I need..."
"You need?" He gasped, his hips beginning to move with her caresses.
"You." She groaned.
"I need you, too." The words came out pained and husky as he urged her back to her hands and knees. He caught her hips and thrust eagerly into her.
"I do believe you may be getting better, Black," Rosamunde murmured cheerfully as she rewrapped Aric's shirt around the horse's head. It had been over an hour since Aric had shown her that doing "it" the way animals did wasn't necessarily wrong--if one did it right. He had then fallen fast asleep, leaving Rosamunde to get up, attend her personal needs, dress, and move Blackie from the hall outside their bedchamber, back down to stand by the fire in the great hall. She had cleaned him up again, for his nose was running horribly, but she knew it was nothing to worry about, just the bad humors leaving his body. She also fed him before unwrapping the clothing from his head to check his temperature. Now tucking the tail end of the tunic under another strip of the cloth to keep it out of the way, she smiled at the animal.
"You are not nearly as hot as you were yesterday. And you are regaining your appetite. You should be your old self again in no time."
"Thank God for that."
Whirling in surprise, Rosamunde smiled shyly at Aric as he approached, then blinked at the brown shirt he wore. "You found a clean tunic."
"Nay. 'Tis mine," Robert announced, drawing her attention to the fact that he was a step behind her husband. "What could I do when he showed up at my door in nothing but brais, begging for--Ouch!"
Rosamunde bit her lip to keep from laughing and gave her husband a reprimanding look for cuffing his friend.
"There's gratitude for you," Robert grumbled, then winked at Rosamunde to let her know that such tomfoolery was common between the two.
"Hmmm. Well, 'twas most kind of you to clothe my husband, my lord," Rosamunde murmured, even as she decided she would have to find something else to wrap Black in. She would clean her husband's clothes this day. Lord Robert's mustard-brown shirt looked horrid on her husband. It really wasn't his color at all.
"So." Aric moved to her side. His hand ran absently up and down the flesh of her upper arm as he peered at his horse. "Can this beast be moved to the stables again--since he is so much better?"
"Not quite yet, my lord," Rosamunde said apologetically, shivering slightly under his light caress. "In another day or two perhaps, but he is still vulnerable, and what with the stables in such rough shape--Where are you going?" she asked in amazement as he suddenly whirled away and strode toward the doors to the bailey.
"To add more men to the building detail. The stables shall be done today if I have to raise them myself. That horse is not spending another night in our room."
"Wait for me, Aric," Robert called, hurrying after him. "There is something I must discuss with you."
"But the two of you have not even broken your fast," Rosamunde cried in dismay. But they merely waved at her and continued on their way, their heads now close together as they spoke.
"And how is Lord Aric's horse this morning?"
Rosamunde glanced away from the men disappearing through the keep doors to smile at Bishop Shrewsbury. He crossed the great hall toward her from the direction of the stairs. "Good morn, my lord Bishop. He is better today. Thank you for asking."
"Good, good." The older man beamed at both her and the horse in question. "I knew you would mend him. 'Tis a gift you have."
Blushing slightly at the praise, Rosamunde smiled slightly, then turned to collect the horse's reins. "I was just about to take Black outside for a moment. Why do you not sit down and break your fast? Lord Spencer should be along soon to eat with you."
"Ah, no. Not this morning, I fear," Bishop Shrewsbury said sadly. "Joseph was on his way down here to have a tray brought up to Lord Spencer when I left my room. He said Spencer's rheumatism is bothering him something fierce this morning and he will remain abed. He seems to think that means rain," he added, then shrugged. "I told Joseph I would see to it, so he need not leave Lord Spencer alone."
"Oh." Rosamunde hesitated, her gaze moving to the kitchen door, but Shrewsbury patted her arm reassuringly.
"You go ahead and take Black outside before he does anything unpleasant. I shall ensure that Lord Spencer's tray is sent up."
"Thank you, my lord Bishop," Rosamunde murmured gratefully, starting toward the keep doors. Black followed docilely behind her. "I should not be long. Then I will keep you company while you eat."
"Good, good. Then we can talk about how to approach your husband."
Pausing, Rosamunde turned back with surprise. "How to approach my husband? About what?" she asked uncertainly.
"Why, about returning you to the abbey, my dear. I am sure that if we just find the right approach, he will see the sense in it. Unfortunately, he does seem to have a temper. He was quite upset with me yesterday when I--"
"My lord Bishop," Rosamunde interrupted, leaving Blackie where he stood and moving slowly back. She had quite forgotten all about that day in the stables when she had sobbed that she did not belong here, that she could do nothing right, the day he had arrived with the news of her father's death. So much had happened since then. "My lord, I know that I was upset the day you arrived--"
"Of course you were, child. Hearing of King Henry's death on top of your own misery here as Burkhart's wife--"
"I do not wish to return to the abbey," Rosamunde said before he could make her feel any worse than she already did about not grieving longer over the loss of her father. The cleric would hardly understand, even if she explained that while she had loved and admired Henry, it had been from a distance--always from a distance. She had seen him only once a year, usually a quick visit on his way somewhere else. He had never once stayed the night at Godstow, and the meal she had been told he ate while she had prepared for her wedding had been only the second he had ever consumed at the abbey. In truth, she had spent more time with him on his last visit--and they had exchanged more words then--than they ever had before. Ere that, he had always been quiet and regal. He had always been her King more than her father, and though she had loved him and sought his approval, his title had always stood between them--something she now regretted.
The abbess and all the women at the abbey had been her true family. They had nurtured and loved her, watching and helping her grow, enjoying her victories and commiserating with her in failure. Her father...Well, she grieved his passing, and the loss of a good king, but he had been a very poor parent.
Still, she would have died before being ungrateful enough to admit that. And she could never, ever have said as much to the man who stood before her, a man who had spent the last thirty-odd years of his life at the king's side, the most faithful of servants.
"I do not understand," he said slowly at last. "You said you could do nothing right here. That you--"
"I was very upset at the time." Rosamunde sighed. "I had been torn from the abbey, refused to be allowed to work with animals." She shook her head helplessly.
The bishop nodded helpfully. "Aye. And if we return you to the abbey, you can take the veil, and continue to heal and nurture the animals--as God meant."
"I can do that here, too. Well, not take the veil, of course--but Aric has agreed to allow me in the stables. He even said it would be a waste of my gifts to deny them." Her face fairly beamed as she told him that, and Shrewsbury smiled slightly in return. Then he seemed to catch himself and shake his head.
"That is wonderful. But what of the marital bed? You said you found it painful and humiliating. Surely you do not wish--"
"Oh, well," Rosamunde interrupted, her face beginning to burn with embarrassment. "That was...I mean...Well, the first time is always painful, is it not?"
"Aye, I have heard as much," Bishop Shrewsbury murmured carefully, watching her face closely. His eyes suddenly widened in amazement. "Are you saying you do not find it unpleasant and humiliating anymore?"
Rosamunde was finding this conversation uncomfortable and decided it was time to bring it to an end. "My lord Bishop, I cannot...This is a most discomfiting discussion. I fear we shall just have to leave it at the fact that I am no longer unhappy here. I am content to stay."
"Just a moment," the bishop murmured anxiously as she started to turn back toward Black. When she paused, he sighed and made a face. "I know this is an uncomfortable conversation for you, child, but this is important. I must ask you--you do not enjoy the marital bed, do you?"
Rosamunde's face colored at the question, and she looked at him warily.
He sighed impatiently. "I do not mean to offend. I ask only because I am aware that the abbess--thinking that you would forever remain with the abbey--may not have taught you about such matters." When Rosamunde made no reply but looked uncertain, he said gently, "'Tis a sin to enjoy the marital bed."
Chapter Twelve
"Have you given any thought to what kind of trouble King Henry may have been worried about?" When Aric slowed to a stop at the bottom of the keep steps and turned a confused expression to his friend, Robert reminded him, "He was worried about Rosamunde's safety should anything happen to him. He said 'twas why he sneaked back to arrange the wedding."
Aric frowned slightly, then continued forward. They were nearly at the half-built stables before he admitted, "I have thought about little else, but I am still not sure what King Henry was concerned about."
"Do you think his concern was about Richard?"
"I do not know," Aric admitted with a scowl. That was his fear. That perhaps now that Richard was to be king, he might pose a threat to Rosamunde. But Aric did not know if the man was even aware of her existence. He wished, not for the first time, that Henry had been more specific in explaining his fears.
"I do not know either," Robert admitted on a sigh, drawing Aric's thoughts back to their conversation, then echoing them. "It would be helpful had King Henry been more forthcoming about what sort of difficulties he expected. And from what corner? Richard or John?"
"Aye." Aric considered the matter briefly, then murmured, "Well, now that Henry is dead, Richard will inherit the throne--so he is most likely the one King Henry feared might act against her."
Shambley nodded thoughtfully. "After all, Richard is most definitely his mother's son. Eleanor has great influence over him."
"Aye, but surely you do not think she could still be bitter over Henry's affair with my wife's mother?" he muttered with dismay.
"I do not know. That is why I brought it up. I wanted to hear your opinion on the matter," he said carefully. "King Henry's concern for her was my first thought when the messenger arrived at Shambley with news of his death. This sudden fear for Rosamunde, what could it mean?"
"Aye, that has been preying on my mind as well," Aric agreed.
"And the last thing you need is more concerns to trouble you," Robert muttered suddenly, amusement beginning to twinkle in his eyes. "Between acquainting yourself with your new responsibilities and Black's illness, you have quite enough in your trencher. Speaking of which, how are you enjoying him as a chambermate? Does he snore? Or do the stomach staggers keep him from sleeping?"
Aric glared at him coldly. "Enjoy it while you can, Shambley. No doubt the day will come when the tables are turned. I shall certainly enjoy my own good laugh then."
Robert merely laughed harder. "Truly, Aric, I do not know how you maintained your temper last night. It did not even occur to me to wonder where Rosamunde had moved the horse to. And to your room?" He shook his head. "Why, the great hall is huge, and the stench in there was staggering. Your chamber must have been suffocating!"
Aric exhaled in misery as he thought about it. But in truth, he had been so drunk when he returned to the chamber, he hadn't noticed any stench at all. In fact, his real irritation had been on awakening to find the animal's nose dripping all over his face. He kept that bit of news to himself, though. His friend had enough to tease him about.
"Back to our discussion of my wife and her possible danger," he said meaningfully instead.
"Ah. Aye, of course." Robert sobered quickly. "What will you do about the coronation? Tidings should come of that soon enough, and you will no doubt both be expected to attend. Do you expect trouble at the ceremony? Eleanor will be there, most like."
Aric considered the matter briefly, then shook his head. "Nay. I do not see that there should be any trouble. Rosamunde's mother's relationship with Henry was nearly twenty years ago. I cannot see any woman holding a grudge tha
t long."
Robert raised an eyebrow.
"But just in case, I think I shall tell the men to be on the lookout for trouble."
"It cannot hurt to do so."
"Aye." Aric sighed. "I shall just have a word with my first in command ere I..." Frowing, he slowed, his hand raising instinctively to his cheek and coming away with dampness on his finger. His brow furrowing with displeasure, he held his hands out, palms to the skies. It was barely a moment before a fat drop of water plopped into one. It was followed quickly by a second. "Damn," he said in disbelief.
"Hmmm. It appears your work on the new stables shall have to wait," Robert managed to say, straight-faced. "I suppose this means you shall be sleeping with your horse again tonight. I do hope he's feeling better." He couldn't repress his laughter when Aric released a long growl of frustration.
"There you are, Blackie." Rosamunde set the bucket of water she had brought with her at the horse's feet. "That should do you for the night."
Straightening, she slid her fingers beneath the material covering his face, relieved to find him cooler. She considered removing the clothes wrapped around him, then decided against it. One more night wearing them would not harm him, and she was sure that if she removed the clothes, Aric would decide that Black was fine and could be returned to the stables. Which was not an option. Not when it had been raining all through the day and most of the evening.
Rosamunde sighed as she thought of the plight of the other horses in the stables tonight. Despite it being full summer, the days had been cool, the kind that seemed to seep right into one's bones. And on top of that, the horses were suffering from the damp, too. The old stables did not only have holes in their walls. The roof also leaked, as if it had been constructed of cheesecloth. Rosamunde had spent a good portion of the morning trying to move the horses around, doubling them up the best stalls, emptying some to avoid the worst of the leaks. But by the end of the morning, she had given up the chore as useless; there simply hadn't been enough stalls that did not have leaks above them.
Rosamunde shook her head at the memory of that frustrating and wholly useless morning. It had not helped that Aric had trailed her around the whole time, grumbling and complaining about the rain and the way it was slowing--actually halting--his construction of the new stables. Had he been complaining about it out of concern for the horses, who had to stand in the mud getting a soaking, she would have grumbled along with him and not been so irritated, but there was no mistaking the fact that his main concern with the delay was that he would have to suffer another night with Black in the castle.
