Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The three older girls giggled at Regine’s expense. Always defiant, Regine scowled at the three of them. “It was worth the spanking to learn the feel of a man’s tongue against my….”

  The smiles, the giggling, immediately ceased. Three pairs of huge, rounded eyes stared at the twelve-year-old. Only Arissa was brave enough to ask.

  “Against your what?”

  Regine was usually quite proud of her growing list of experiences. But gazing at the expressions of the older women, she was suddenly regretful for her outburst. With a faint flush mottling her ears, she finished scrubbing Arissa’s foot.

  “Surely you have kissed a man, Riss. Sometimes they kiss with their tongues.”

  Arissa shook her head slowly. “I have never kissed a man. Sweet St. Jude, Regine, you are only twelve. Why must you be so eager to indulge in adult pleasures?”

  Regine’s hot gaze came up from her task. “Because I want to know. And I shall learn, any way I can so that my prospective husband will not be displeased that I am ignorant.”

  “Your prospective husband will not want a trollop that has seen service like a well-used horse.”

  “You only say that because you must enter the cloister. You must be pure ’else God will not want you,” she turned her attention to Penelope. “Surely you have kissed Daniel. Has not he kissed you with his tongue?”

  Penelope flushed a dull red and abruptly turned away, fumbling with the linen towels. Arissa passed a glance at her startled friend. “What Daniel and Penelope do is none of your affair, Regine. Moreover….”

  But Regine was ignoring her sister. Instead, she was on her feet, her blue eyes fully focused on the blushing maiden. “I have watched you and Daniel at times. In fact, I followed the two of you the other night when you left the dining hall early. He took you into the stable and….”

  Penelope suddenly whirled around, her face bright and flushed. “Regine! How dare you..!”

  Arissa was climbing out of her bath, fully intent on defending Penelope from her tactless sister. “You should not have been spying on them! I am going to tell mother!”

  “But he put his mouth on her breasts,” Regine insisted to her sister, as if the intimate action was a great mystery. “I want to know what it feels like, too. Penelope, was it wonderful? From the noise you were making, I couldn’t tell.”

  Arissa’s eyes widened; she did not dare look at Penelope. Swallowing hard, she gave her sister a shove toward the door. “Leave us, Regine. I shall not hear such slanderous lies.”

  “They’re not lies!” Regine insisted, nearly slipping on a puddle of water. “What’s wrong, Riss? Why are you angry?”

  Arissa gave her sister another push, completely ignorant of her slick, naked body. “Out, out!”

  Frustrated and puzzled, Regine quit the room in a huff. Embarrassed on behalf of her sister’s mouth and her friend’s invaded privacy, she turned hesitantly to Penelope.

  “I am sorry, Pen,” she said softly. “You know she’s…. well, she simply doesn’t see anything wrong with what she does sometimes.”

  Penelope was staring at the floor. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet Arissa’s gaze. “I suppose I should not be ashamed, truly. After all, Daniel and I plan on marrying. Some day.”

  Emma was still on her knees by the tub of cooling water. Her soft blue eyes were wide. “Did he really touch you…. there?”

  Penelope looked to the younger girl as Arissa gathered a coarse towel and began to dry herself. “Aye, he did,” she swallowed again. “I know that I should not have let him, but….”

  “You do not have to explain yourself to us, Pen,” Arissa cut her short, forcing her embarrassed friend focus on the duty of drying her raven locks. “We know that you and Daniel love each other.”

  Penelope vigorously toweled Arissa’s hair. “Certainly, I love him. I know he loves me, too, although he’s never truly told me.”

  “Have you done anything else?” Emma asked, her voice small.

  Penelope’s movements slowed. “I have not lost my maidenhood, if that’s what you mean.”

  Arissa cast Emma a quelling look. Fortunately, Emma understood the implication and let the subject go. But she was still terribly curious and, in a sense, awed. Penelope was entering into the mysterious world of adult lust and she, too, wanted to know what it was like.

  Richmond’s voice suddenly drifted in from the bailey, wafting through the lancet windows of the bower and penetrating the oiled cloth curtains. Arissa heard his voice and found herself staring at the covered windows even as Penelope directed her to sit by the weak flame of the hearth.

  Hearing his voice reminded her of the previous day, the first day in months that they had seen one another. Memories of his arms around her as she cried, of his hands in her hair, filled her full of warm and giddy thoughts. And the way he had gazed into her eyes before Mossy interrupted them had been nothing short of astounding. If she did not know better, she would have sworn he wanted to kiss her. Or mayhap she had merely hoped their wants were the same.

  Arissa was barely aware of Penelope’s ministrations as the young woman combed the drying black locks, moving woodenly when Emma secured her new surcoat. Her thoughts were focused on Richmond as she gazed at her reflection in the polished glass mirror, unnoticing of the delightful cleavage the dress managed to display. With her narrow waist and link belt, her breasts appeared even larger than their natural state and she took a second glance, forgetting Richmond for the moment as she tried to lessen the impact of her deliciously full assets.

  Arissa did not like the attention they drew from men and women alike. She had developed at an early age, beginning her menses before most girls even knew what the cycle meant. One morning she had awoken to the largest breasts she had ever seen; or, at least, she thought it was somewhat of an overnight occurrence. She remembered crying into her mother’s arms with embarrassment when she had overheard one of the serving wenches commenting on her ripe figure.

  She never saw the serving wench again after that day. Rumor had it that the woman had been discharged and sent on her way. She had no way of knowing that Richmond had ordered the offending woman thrashed within an inch of her life and cast to the elements. A cruel punishment indeed, but there was nothing the Great Protector would not do for his charge.

  Penelope fussed at her friend as she tugged at the magnificent surcoat, finally giving up and moving to style the raven-hued hair. As Arissa attempted to minimize her delicious assets, Penelope gathered the front of her hair and secured it within a silver clip at the back of her skull. Ebony tendrils of silken hair curled delicately about her face, framing her porcelain features.

  But Arissa did not notice that, either. She was still fidgeting with the dress. “I look like I am harboring two overgrown melons underneath my surcoat,” she complained.

  Penelope and Emma passed a critical eye over their friend. “Riss, if I were fortunate enough to possess a figure like you, I would display it often enough to offend God himself,” Penelope’s voice was laced with envy. “Why must you act as if it is a curse?”

  Arissa ceased struggling against breasts that simply were not going to shrink. She stared at herself. “I am too short. I look like a troll.”

  Emma shook her head and turned away. “You look like a goddess,” she moved for the door and summoned the serving wenches to take the copper tub away. When the women busied themselves with emptying the water and mopping up the floor, Emma turned to find Arissa and Penelope still gazing at Arissa’s reflection.

  Emma put her hands on her hips. “Riss, you are perfect. Your breasts are round and ripe, your waist tiny, and your legs are shapely and beautiful. How can you see any differently?”

  Arissa turned away from the mirror. “I just do, I guess. I am certainly not fishing for compliments from the two of you. What do I care what you magpies think?”

  Outside, more shouts abound, announcing the approach of the first caravan of guests. One of the serving women had brou
ght forth a bowl of porridge and a chunk of bread, but Arissa was too nervous to think of food. Her guests were arriving, people she was expected to greet, and her stomach was jumping madly.

  “I must go,” she smoothed at her surcoat again. “Father demands that I greet my company. Are you sure I look presentable?”

  Penelope and Emma smiled at her. “Beautiful, Riss. Men will be falling all over themselves in their attempt to capture your attention,” Emma said truthfully.

  Arissa dared a small smile, quitting the room with her friends in tow. She was growing more excited with the prospect of her special day, thrilled to be mingling with people she hadn’t seen in months. The list of events that would comprise the day before the grand celebration that eve was enough activities to fill an entire week.

  As Penelope and Emma left her to go and change into their own appropriate garments, Arissa descended the stairs alone. So she presented a beautiful picture, did she? Strange, she never considered herself beautiful. But if her friends’ words were truthful, if the men in attendance really would be trampling themselves in order to gain her attention, they were in for a rude awakening.

  There was only one man whose attentions she yearned for. She wondered if Richmond would think she looked beautiful, too.

  *

  The first of December had dawned amazingly bright and, in spite of the cool temperatures, promised to be a delightful day. A chill wind whipped the Lambourn banners in to a frenzy, blue and gold flapping madly on the battlements. Lambourn soldiers, their mail cleaned and their blue tunics fresh, paced their posts in vigilant preparation for the day.

  Richmond was pleased with the organized uniformity. His own men, one hundred elite guards he had arrived with yesterday, were patrolling the woods and surrounding areas for thieves and bandits as the great houses of Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Dorset, Hampshire and Wiltshire arrived for a very special gala. Even though it was a one-day event, Richmond knew, most likely, that Lambourn could expect a keep-full of houseguests for three or four days.

  Clad in polished armor and Henry’s Leopards of England tunic, he made his rounds with Carlton to make sure posts were set and the sentries were vigilant.

  “God has blessed my lady with a beautiful day for her birthday celebration,” Carlton said, inhaling an unusually warm breath of December air. “I cannot remember when we have had such pleasant winter weather.”

  “Hold your tongue, Carlton. You shall jinx the day.”

  The knight laughed softly as they passed a clutter of old weapons and crates that Richmond immediately ordered removed. Obedient soldiers rushed to carry out the order as the two warriors made their way across the bailey en route to the stables, intent to make sure the stable master was well prepared for the onslaught of fine chargers and wagons.

  William and Bartholomew exited the castle as the knights were crossing the courtyard, finely dressed in embroidered tunics with Lambourn’s lion crest. William greeted Richmond amiably, nary a mention of the previous night when Bartholomew had nearly ended his foolish life. His son, however, refused to meet Richmond’s eye, a strong indication that he was still feeling a major degree of embarrassment.

  Richmond knew it was more than likely that Lambourn’s heir was angry with the older knight for ending his performance prematurely. Bartholomew was as sensitive as a woman at times, adding dimension and mystery to his already bizarre character. If he was not venting Greek tragedies, he was weeping like a jilted lover. More than once his father had threatened to end his peculiar torment permanently.

  But Richmond had little time to dwell on the eccentricities of human nature. He responded to both men with his usual emotionless salutation, politely listening to William’s prattle when there were a thousand other duties he was required to attend. The longer William spoke, the more impatient Richmond became and just as he moved to excuse himself, the sentries on the battlements sounded the onset of a series of shouts.

  Richmond was mercifully released from William’s boorish presence as he jogged across the dusty courtyard, taking the ladder to the battlements effortlessly. High atop the wall, he gazed out over the still December landscape and immediately his hawk-sharp eyes envisioned the party advancing from a distance.

  “De Rydal,” he muttered, turning to the nearest soldier. “Tell the earl that the House of de Rydal approaches.”

  The soldier shuffled off, leaving Richmond and a few other guards leaning over the parapet, gazing onto the horizon.

  “How in the hell can he see who it is?” one of the guards muttered, expressing his disbelief to another. “They’ve got to be a mile away.”

  Richmond heard the comment and it nearly made him smile. But not quite. He cast an arrogant, all-knowing glance at the group of men.

  “I do not need to see the party to know who approaches.” He pushed past the men, moving for the ladder.

  “You do not?” the soldier repeated, mystified. “But how do you know, m’lord?”

  Richmond paused on the top rung, gazing into a host of curious faces. “I know everything.”

  They believed him.

  William and Bartholomew were in the same spot where Richmond had left them. Carlton and Daniel were at the portcullis, ordering the ancient grill raised for the incoming party. Richmond could hear the metal groaning as he moved toward the earl and his son, hoping the earl would not force him to play co-host to a throng of silly nobles.

  He would organize William’s men. He would see to the security of the celebration. He would even attend the gala when he would much rather be alone, tending his own interests. But he would not perform as the perfect, congenial host. He simply was not comfortable in a group of people much less willing to take charge of the festivities.

  Making his way to William, he prayed the man would not expect him to take control of the reveling throng. Even though William knew well of Richmond’s reserved nature, somehow he would conveniently forget and demand le Bec into the diplomatic corp. And Richmond was not sure how, exactly, he could gracefully decline.

  Most likely, the only logical solution was to decline the offer before it was issued. After all, there was so much going on this day that required constant supervision; there would be wrestling matches for betting pleasure near the stables that had to be supervised, and there was to be an archery competition later in the afternoon that required the same attention. Richmond’s own men were pledged in a Stick and Ball match against William’s men-at-arms, a bout that promised to be lively. That, too, needed to be finalized.

  He opened his mouth as he approached the earl, determined to get in the first word. But it was not fast enough.

  “Richmond, I have a request of you,” William said in his usual aggressive manner, watching the portcullis come to a grinding halt. “Lady Maude and I….”

  Richmond stepped all over his words. “I cannot tend your guests, William. I have quite a number of duties of my own. You are well aware that I am not the diplomatic sort.”

  William raised his eyebrows. “I was not going to ask you to entertain my guests. God’s Teeth, man, a corpse would have better manners hosting a crowd. I was simply going to ask that you escort Arissa this day. I realize you have a good many duties, assisting Carlton and Daniel with the day’s events, but I do not want Arissa without a knightly escort. Will you do this?”

  Would he escort Arissa though her day, tracking her every move, listening to her laughter and drawing strength from the sound of her voice? His sharp manner abruptly subsided. “I have always been my lady’s shadow,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “’Tis unnecessary to make such a request.”

  William cocked an eyebrow, somewhat amused. “Yet I make it all the same. I know how consumed you can be when it comes to sports and games, and with most of the family preoccupied with our visitors, I did not wish for Arissa’s safety to suffer. Leave the games to one of your officers. I have made a far more important request of you.”

  Richmond did not reply. He’d been Arissa’s esco
rt for more functions than he could remember, shadowing the giddy young woman and her silly friends. He’d grown accustomed to their childish chatter and foolish pranks and, somehow, they always seemed to make him smile where grown men failed.

  He wondered why he suddenly felt differently escorting Arissa to her own party. In the past, he had acted in a near fatherly manner, treating her as one would a daughter or niece. He’d given little thought to chasing off the eager beaus, casting a threatening glance and conveying more danger than mere words could express. It had always been the same, a duty he had taken great pleasure in.

  But no longer. If a young man approached her this day, he was not at all sure he would not take the potential suitor’s head off. Certainly, a fatherly attitude no longer prevailed. As if…. as if a new dimension had been added since their baffling encounter last night. When he had held her as one would a lover.

  He forced himself away from his gripping thoughts, focusing on the earl. “So I shall play nursemaid to The Horde this day? I must be receiving punishment for a great offense I have unknowingly committed against you.”

  William laughed, watching his men scatter as the first of the de Rydal’s escort rode into the bailey. “Better you than me.”

  Arissa chose that moment to exit the castle, positively ravishing in green silk. Although it was far too cool to move about without a wrap, she would have refused a cloak from God himself if it meant concealing her new surcoat. She had already received two compliments from the servants as she exited the castle and thought, mayhap, that her own conservative observations had been wrong. Mayhap the garment did not make her look too short or too busty.

  A cool gust of wind caught her and she involuntarily shivered, her pale green eyes riveted to the party just passing under the portcullis. Several feet to her right stood her father, Bartholomew, and several knights including Richmond.

  Swallowing her nerves, she descended the stairs towards the men. With every step, she began to hope that she would see Richmond’s approval in his eyes, a silent appreciation for the trouble she had gone through to make herself lovely. His word and his alone would decide how she truly felt about her appearance.