Philippa released him to loosen the ties on her gowns and pull them off, along with her chemise. Carefully draping her precious garments over the handle of a pitchfork, she removed her shoes and rolled off her stockings. When she looked up, Temric was watching her, his eyes half-closed against his longing for her.
“By all that’s holy,” he breathed, “I swear you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His gaze caressed the fullness of her breasts, the slim line of her waist, then he sighed. “Tell me you don’t think me capable of what he did to you.”
Philippa glanced down at her midsection and the scars that crossed it. When she raised her head, it was with a confident smile. “Never,” she said. “You’d die before you hurt me apurpose, of that I’m certain.”
He nodded in relief. “Good. I feared you thought I’d be like him,” he said softly. “Come, love, touch me again.”
Two steps brought her toe to toe with him. She raised her arms to encircled his neck, then pulled herself up against him. They stood so, her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs against his. Every inch of her burned in the sheer joy of feeling him. Against her stomach lay the hard warmth of his shaft. Even trapped between them as it was, the thing tried to move. Its futile efforts made her smile.
“I think your shaft has a liking for me,” she whispered against his throat.
“No less than the rest of me,” he retorted quietly. “By God, I swear I’ll die if you don’t kiss me.”
“Where?” she asked, pressing her lips to his neck, then to the base of his throat. Her hands loosened as she kissed the broad sweep of his chest, her fingers seeking out the curve of his shoulders.
He groaned. Her mouth lowered as she eased to her knees. Her lips touched his ribs, the flat of his belly, her hands sliding downward from his elbows to his forearms. Her woman’s flesh grew heated and moist as she lowered her mouth farther to kiss the curve of his abdomen. That touching him could bring such pleasure to her was a revelation. The more she touched him, the more she craved to touch him.
She traced circles in his palms with her fingertips. The heat within her grew until it threatened to consume her. Her lips pressed against the base of his shaft. Their fingers intertwined.
As she tasted its skin, Philippa drew a sharp breath. Throbbing need flooded her, only to be followed by amusement as she watched his shaft’s reaction to her caress. How could a simple kiss make something so hard and stiff dance?
Temric groaned again, his grip on her hands tightening. “Stop, I pray you,” he begged, his voice gruff. “Please God, cease. When I vowed not to touch you, I didn’t know you’d be so quick to tease. Please, love. Don’t steal from me my chance to love you.”
Philippa looked up at him. How he wanted her! She saw it in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth, along the now taut line of his jaw and the corded sinews of his neck. But, he’d not take her until she gave him leave. He’d made it her choice and the time had come to choose.
In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to have his mouth on hers with all the passion she knew he could muster. As she came to her feet, she freed her hands from his, then combed her fingers into his hair. She touched her mouth to his. “Then, you must love me,” she breathed, their lips barely touching. “I free you from your vow.”
With a groan, he caught her to him in a wild embrace. His mouth slashed across hers, his hands pressing her hand against him. There was no fear left in her, only a deep need that she knew his touch could fill.
He kissed her throat, then bent until he could take the tip of one breast into his mouth. She moaned as ripples of joy surged over her. Her fingers curled into his hair, holding him to her breast when he would have moved away. When he finally released her, it was to kneel before her and press his mouth to the place where her nether lips folded closed. She cried out in shock. Margaret had warned most strictly against this caress, forbidding her to ever allow Roger such liberties.
“Nay,” she managed as the movement of his tongue against her most sensitive flesh made her tremble. “You shouldn’t.”
He kissed the place where her leg curved into her hip. “Why?” he whispered against her skin. “Should I let you do this to me and not return the favor? Doesn’t it please you?”
“Aye,” Philippa told him, “it pleases me very well, but isn’t it a sin?”
Leaning back, he looked up at her and smiled. “How can love be sinful?” he asked, then brushed his mouth across the swell of her stomach.
“This is love?” she cried in surprise. In the next instant, astonishment died away into sudden understanding. This touching was a way to show emotions that might otherwise stay trapped inside the heart.
“Aye,” he replied, taking her hand and tugging her down until she knelt across from him. With her face caught between his hands, he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. “Now, let me show you how much I love you.”
“Show me,” she begged in return.
He eased back onto the blanket, his mouth claiming hers. In a moment, she lay atop him, his legs between hers. When the tip of his shaft touched the center of her being, Philippa stiffened. Their position as so unfamiliar that she hadn’t expected him to attempt an entry. Laying still, she braced herself for what came next. An instant later and to her complete surprise, she held him fully within her without the slightest pain.
The incredible rightness of their joining tumbled through her, destroying all capacity for thought. Her mouth met his with a passion of her own. She felt the urge to move and followed it. A wave of pure joy flooded her. It was wonderful. Nay, spectacular! She moved again. He groaned, the sound rumbling in his chest.
Again, pleasure soared within her. Then, the need to move without stopping grew too great to deny. Clutching her arms around his neck, Philippa let the sensations she created within herself flood over her. Their mouths met in a heated kiss that only fed what filled her womb. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, each one driving her on to find the next.
His hands buried into her hair as he tore his mouth free of hers. His breathing grew harsh and quick as he kissed her brow, her eyes, her ear. This fervent need of his only added to Philippa’s enjoyment.
Murmuring, his voice low and deep, he spoke to her, but she was beyond comprehending. Instead, she cried out as what she experienced grew too great to contain. Shudders wracked her until the fullness of holding him within her exploded into something even greater. She froze against it, incapable of even breathing.
Temric stiffened beneath her, suddenly driving himself into her. In blinding and instinctive knowing Philippa understood he sought to attain what she had just experienced. Power beyond any she’d ever owned filled her, for she could give him what he sought. Rising above him, she began to move, seeking, then finally finding, the rhythm that made him cry out.
When he did, it was with his hands clutched her at the waist, urging her down atop him as if he meant to make them one. Arching, his breath coming in great, sobbing gasps, he thrust into her again and again, until Philippa swore she felt his seed throb into her. With a final cry of her own, she collapsed atop him, beyond all thought and motion.
Yet panting, he relaxed beneath her. Sighing in hazy awareness, Philippa pressed her body to his. His rapid heartbeat gradually slowed as his breathing calmed.
She smiled. To think she was capable of not only giving him pleasure, but of pleasing herself, as well! Turning her face into the curve of his neck, she pressed her lips to his throat. Temric shuddered and clutched her even closer to him. To her astonishment, she felt neither trapped nor forced, only desired, needed and, above all, loved.
Lost in surprise, Philippa’s thoughts wandered. Temric was right; this was the bodily expression of their care for each other. In this moment, both Margaret and Lindhurst’s priest were exposed as either liars or fools. It wasn’t natural for a woman to know pain with her husband. Nor should there be sin in lusting for the man she loved. To lie with a man for whom she had no care,
or who meant to do her harm, as Roger had, that was a sin, indeed. No wonder it had hurt.
“Temric?” she whispered.
“Hmm?” he sighed, easing her to one side. She lay cradled in the bend of his arm, her head pillowed against his shoulder.
“There was no pain,” she breathed, kissing his shoulder.
“So I gathered,” he replied in a voice equally low and filled with deep contentment. He leaned his head against hers. She sighed, then watched him drift into sleep. It wasn’t long before she followed him.
***
Philippa awoke to a rustling near her ear. Blinking, she tried to make sense of the darkness around her. With no moon tonight it was a moment before the stable’s tiny windows appeared out of the dimness, their openings filled with stars. Something was burrowing beneath the blanket. A moment later and a cat circled near Philippa’s head. From nearby came the faint mew of newborn kittens, while overhead a barn owl cried to its own young as it returned to its nest.
As she came fully alert, worry shot through her. Oh, Lord, but they’d slept right into the depths of the night. Was Alwyna fretting because they hadn’t returned? Whether she was or wasn’t, there was naught they could do about it now, not with the city gates all locked and barred until dawn.
That left her nothing to do save lie here next to Temric. She smiled. It was something she wanted to do forever. Nay, not just that. The need to once again indulge herself in the pleasure their bodies made between them stirred. Her smile widened. How was it she’d survived so many years without knowing that love could be so satisfying?
Shifting, she curled against his side. The movement of her skin against his was a potent reminder of the joy she’d found in their union. He sighed, but didn’t awaken. Carefully, she lay her arm across his chest in a light embrace, then her hand moved, just a little. The sensation of his skin against her palm was intoxicating. As the embers of her passion for him glowed into flame, she forgot that he slept and let her hand moved over his chest, down his stomach, past his shaft to the curve of his thigh.
Dear God, but she’d never known that simple touching could make her feel so alive. Sudden heat flared in her womb. Philippa sighed as she lost herself to indolent sensation.
Leaning closer, she brushed her lips against the bulk of his shoulder, then rose onto her elbow to lay her mouth against the base of his neck. By tiny kisses, she traced the line of his throat to his ear. When she lay her mouth against his jaw, his short beard tickled her lips.
Lost in need, she touched her lips to his. His arms encircled her and he pulled her atop him, his mouth claiming hers as his own. Her gasp of surprise gave way to a flood of desire and she met his passion with her own. It was Temric who broke away, gasping for breath.
“Who would have known you’d be so lusty a wench?” he teased, his smile gleaming in the night.
At his words, sudden shyness filled Philippa. “Does that please you?” she whispered into his neck.
“Oh, aye, it does,” Temric assured her, his voice filled with laughter. “You cannot know how much it does.”
Philippa’s heart soared with confidence and the urge to tease him as he had her followed. “Then, I shall continue doing as you suggested and make myself acquainted with your body.”
“Please do,” he urged, a new intensity in his voice. “This time, we’ll take longer in our explorations.”
The thought of prolonging their pleasure made Philippa melt against him. His hands slid into the thickness of her unbound hair and he lifted her face to his. Even as she pressed her mouth to his she felt the stirrings of his shaft against her leg. Oh, to belong to this man for all the days of her life! It was a fate worthy of damnation.
***
Dawn came too soon, heralded by distant cocks and the complex harmonies of woodland birds. Temric eased his arm out from beneath Philippa. Nay, it was the rest of his life that come clamoring too quickly on his heels, not the newborn day. The trap he’d put himself into was closing around him, growing tighter by the day.
It was with some difficulty that he shook off his sense of doom and reminded himself he was here by choice. Surely, if the buying of wool bored him so, some other aspect of what Alwyna did would engage his interest. Indeed, if he was fair about it, this life was no different than what he’d known at Graistan. There, as with a merchant’s life, each day was filled with a continual sameness, save for the days when he assembled and disassembled siege engines to check for rot. Or, the days that he rode the perimeters of his brother’s lands to watch for thieves. Or, when he and Rannulf hunted, or broke new colts, or . . ..
Temric stopped himself with a sigh. Aye, so he’d loved life at Graistan. If he gave himself time, he’d find what appealed to him in this new world of his.
Rising carefully so as not to disturb Philippa, he stepped outside the barn to relieve himself, then wandered back behind the stable to the household garden. It was better kept now than when he departed from Stanrudde. With a snort, that old fool of a horse turned from grazing in the meadow to come to the fence near its master, where it whickered in invitation. Temric went to pluck a carrot from the garden, banged the dirt from it and offered it to his old friend. The horse nibbled at it with all the dignity expected from one of its lineage. Then, the twit made a sham of its great pride by leaning its head into Temric’s should as if to say the master had been truly missed.
“Liar,” Temric laughed, scratching at the proffered ear. “I can see by your belly you’re liking it here well enough and missed me not at all. Well, if you’ve found something to like about this new life of yours, no doubt I can find something as well.”
Giving the horse a last pat, he turned back toward the stable. Aye, in time all would be right. After last night, he no longer had any doubt that he and Philippa could dwell here in happiness.
Temric stopped with a start. Oh Jesu, but what if she bore him children? It rankled that in their love they could only create bastards. He didn’t want his children to be isolated from the mainstream as he and Philippa had been. He forced the thought from his head. That was a concern for later. For now, he’d best concentrate on making himself like this life of theirs.
Retreating to the well, he drew up the bucket, then doused himself with the cold water. With a gasp, he shook droplets from his hair, then wiped the water from his eyes. When he turned, he found Philippa standing at the stable’s corner wearing only her hair. Soft morning light gleamed off her bared skin. She smiled at him, relief filling the movement of her mouth.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Naught. I was dreaming you’d left me, then woke to find you gone,” she said in quiet explanation.
“I didn’t wish to wake you,” he replied, rubbing the remaining moisture from his face. A breath of wind set his skin to prickling.
Philippa studied him for a long moment, her gaze intent. “There’s more to it than that. What is it that troubles you?”
That she seemed able to see past his skin and into his heart unnerved Temric. Against it, the words that fell from his lips owned more truth than he meant to reveal. “I was regretting that our children will be bastards, like ourselves.”
Cocking her head to one side, she eyed him as if puzzled. “Now, why would such a thing give you even a moment’s pause?” she asked. “I lacked no love because of my birth. Knowing Alwyna as I do now, I can’t think you were deprived of affection either. Would we not love our children just as much? What difference does the name we give them at their birth make against that?”
Temric laughed at himself. “You’re right and shame on me. I’ve been too long in the habit of hating my birth. Any child you bear for me will be cherished, indeed.”
The concern in Philippa’s face dimmed into something akin to disappointment. “You mustn’t hope for children, Temric,” she warned him quietly. “In my twelve years with Roger, there’s been nary a flicker of life within my womb.”
“Then, we’ll live content without children,” he r
eplied with a shrug to hide his relief. Despite what he’d just said, he still didn’t like it that his children might wear the stain of bastardy. “Perhaps it’s just as well. What if I produce a son like Rannulf’s Jordan? That wee lad’s more trouble than Rannulf and I were together.” However harsh his complaint, he couldn’t prevent his fondness for his nephew from seeping into his voice.
Where he was jesting, Philippa found a sober subject. “See, you love your brother’s son well enough and he’s also a bastard.”
“Aye, so he is,” Temric replied, “and I am rightfully chastised. Now, come love, and hold me to ease the sting of your scold.”
Philippa’s expression lightened with his words as she realized he was teasing her. When amusement filled her eyes, Temric smiled, pleased. It was a sign that she meant to tease him in return. He truly hadn’t expected her to become so comfortable with him so quickly.
“What, and let you use my hair for your towel?” she retorted. “I think not. Oh! Now, you--you stay away from me,” she cried out as he came toward her. Turning, she escaped back into the stable.
Laughing in pure delight, Temric chased after her. If catching her was enjoyable, what followed was better still. He let himself lose his worries in her arms and the womanly warmth of her body.
The hour of Terce had passed before Philippa and Temric returned to Stanrudde. Alwyna’s courtyard was strewn from one end of that stony square to the other with what Temric had brought home. The wool clip was already being separated into grades, the best fleece going to feed the looms of Flanders. Alwyna kept the coarser stuff as well as the fleece shorn from carcasses for her own spinners and weavers.
For all the work being done in the courtyard, a tense silence held the place in thrall. Philippa glanced across the folk she now knew so well. Alwyna and Peter were at the courtyard’s far end, Alwyna looking harried, while Peter’s expression was carefully blank. Jehan sat near the house’s rear door at the yard’s opposite end in a small, backless chair, his face holding the promise of a coming storm.
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