Surprised by the intensity of her kiss, he released his grip on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "By the rood, wife!" he exlaimed, seeing the truth.
"If you gloat, Rafe, I swear I will slice your ears off!" she threatened him.
"I should be an odd sight then," he teased back gently, taking her hand in his and kissing the palm softly. "You are so damned proud, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, and so I shall say it first. I love you, wife."
"For how long?" she demanded, but her heart was hammering with the incredible joy overtaking her entire being. He loved her!
"From the first moment I saw you, and you were my cousin's wife and he did not really appreciate the magnificent creature he had in you. Edward didn't deserve you. I could plainly see that you were not the woman for him. You were mine!"
"Oh, Rafe," she said, her heart overflowing with her happiness.
"When they said you were dead I did what I had to do for my sister, but in the darkness of the night I cursed the fates that I had lost you. And then by some miracle you were restored to me, my darling! I can still remember all those pompous clerics sitting about with their pursed lips and disapproving looks, wondering who would have this fallen woman-this Magdalen who had lain in an infidel's arms and then had the temerity to return to England and admit it. I can still hear the angry sound my cousin made when I said that I should have you. It was a cross between a gasp and a curse, for while Edward knows Katherine is a better wife for him, he yet lusts after you."
"You delight in that knowledge," she accused him.
"Aye, I do," he freely admitted. "My cousin is a fool, but his wit-lessness has allowed me to have my heart's desire." His fingers began to unlace her chemise, pulling it down off her shoulders so that it finally puddled about her hips. He stared entranced at her breasts, shaking his head and murmuring, "So beautiful."
Rhonwyn took his face between her hands and looked into it. "I love you, Rale," she told him. " I love you!" She kissed his mouth hard. "I said those words only once to Edward when he was ill, but never did I say them to Rashid al Ahmet. You hear this declaration from me because it is the truth. I love you!"
"I shall not be the fool that Edward was," he promised her.
"I know," she told him. "Now take your clothes off, Rafe, because I am hot to couple with you, my husband!" She pushed him from her and stood up from the chair, allowing the chemise to fall to her ankles. She stepped from the material and began undoing his sherte, her nimble fingers pulling the laces free as if by magic. She yanked the garment from him and then bent to cover his torso in kisses.
With a groan he pulled her up, drawing her against his bare chest with one hand while the other hand fumbled with his chausses. Both of them were breathing quickly in their eagerness. He cursed his awkwardness, and laughing softly, Rhonwyn aided him with sure hands until he was as naked as she. Stepping back, she viewed him as God had made him and smacked her lips in open approval.
He laughed aloud. "Shameless wench," he said, but his own eyes were sweeping over her admiringly.
Taking his hand, she led him to their bed and drew him down atop her. "Make love to me, husband," she said softly. "Have we both not waited long enough for this night?" Then Rhonwyn kissed him eagerly.
The warmth of her lips sent his senses reeling. He was already hard for her, but he had wanted more than a quick coupling the first time. Now he realized how desperate they both were for this first encounter. There would be more than enough time-years- for the tender passion that he believed should precede the event. Slowly, carefully, he entered her body, knowing how long it had been since she had last had a man. She was wet and hot, and she sighed deeply at his ingress. He groaned with the delight he felt at just possessing her. Leaning back slightly, he caressed her breasts.
Rhonwyn put her arms about his neck and drew him back down against her. "I am ashamed to be so eager," she confessed, "but, please!"
He smiled into her eyes, his lips gently kissing her face, and began to move upon her. Her eyes closed as she wrapped her slender limbs about him, her lithe body moving with his rhythm, encouraging him onward. His breath began to come in hot pants as his tempo quickened.
She half sobbed as she felt his great, thick length fill her. Neither of her previous lovers had been quite as well endowed as was Rafe. The beast throbbed within her love sheath, then it began to thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw, until she was mindless and wild with her passion. She clung hungrily to him, her nails digging into the muscles of his back and raking down the smooth flesh as her lust swelled. Finally they exploded in a starburst of satisfaction that they shared together before collapsing, replete with their shared pleasure.
"Oh, husband," Rhonwyn breathed gustily.
"Wife, you should unman a satyr," he groaned happily.
"What is a satyr?" she demanded to know.
He laughed. "A creature that is half man, half goat, and incredibly lustful."
She smiled as she lay contented upon his smooth, damp chest. "Next time I shall make you feel like the randiest of satyrs," she promised.
"Will you?" he half taunted her.
"I will!" Rhonwyn raised her head and began to lick his nipples suggestively.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, very much enjoying her attentions, then he gently bid her cease. "While I should like you to believe I can be aroused almost immediately, wife, it is not possible, as we both realize."
"I bow to your husbandly wisdom," she said sweetly, arising from their bed and walking across the floor to the fireplace. There she took a pitcher of water from the coals and poured some into the small earthenware ewer that was set on the hearth along with a soft cloth. Returning to the bed, she set the ewer on the side table and began to bathe his masculine parts. He was very surprised, but she explained. "They do this in Cinnebar so that no pleasure has to be foregone the second, or third, or fourth time."
"Third or fourth time?" he queried her, swallowing hard.
"Aye," she replied, bathing her own female parts carefully before his eager eyes. "When this night is over, my lord husband, you will have even more reason to feel sorry for your cousin, Edward." And so saying she went to the window, opened the shutter, and threw out the water in the basin, laughing as the wind and snow blew into their chamber, and the fire blazed higher for a minute. Closing the shutter, she replaced the ewer and its cloth on the hearth and returned to the comfort of his arms.
"I know something Edward never knew about you," he told her. "You are a sorceress, my Welsh wife, and I am under your spell." Then he kissed her, softly at first, his lips tracing a path over her eyelids, cheeks, and nose. Then more fiercely their mouths fused together, their tongues playful and teasing. He was caught by surprise when she pushed him upon his back and bestrode him, her thighs holding him firmly.
Reaching up, she undid her hair, which was already half undone by their earlier love play. Tossing the pins carelessly aside, she let her tresses fall like a rich golden mantle about her. Then her hands reached out for him, and she began to smooth her palms in circles over his chest. "We must have scented oils in a basket by our bed," she told him. "I will rub them into your skin, husband, and it will give you great pleasure." Her center fingers began rubbing themselves over his sensitive nipples. Leaning forward briefly, she kissed him even as she pinched his nipples hard, catching his cry of surprise within her mouth. Then leaning back again, she nibbled thoughtfully upon a finger for a moment. Suddenly a wicked smile suffused her features, and Rhonwyn turned her body about upon his torso. Her fingers reached out for his manhood, which was showing definite signs of awakening.
"1 learned this in the harem," she told him as she reached beneath him to press a finger against a sensitive spot that he had never even known existed.
"Jesu! Mary!" he groaned as fire began to pour through his veins and her hand tortured his twin jewels with teasing caresses.
Rhonwyn inclined her body forward, her fingers running up and down his stiffenin
g manhood. Her pointed little tongue encircled the fiery head of his weapon several times, and then she took him into her mouth, suckling upon as much of his length as she could, rousing him into such a frenzy that he began to groan. When she determined that he had had as much as he could stand without spilling his seed, she ceased the sweet torment and turned her body back to face him.
His big hands fastened themselves about her narrow waist, and lifting her up, he lowered her again, delving deep into her hot softness. His hands fastened themselves about her round breasts, and he began to fondle them. Their eyes met suddenly, and she smiled at him, her hands bracing themselves as she began to ride him, slowly at first, and then with increasing vigor. His eyes closed, and he almost wept with the pleasure she was giving him.
Seeing him lost in his passion, Rhownyn's green eyes closed, too, and she gave herself to the moment. He was hard and strong. He filled her so completely that she sensed he was touching her womb. She tightened the muscles of her love sheath about him, and he cried out with his delight. Then without warning he released her breasts, took her by the shoulders, and rolled her beneath him. His hard thighs imprisoned her as he pushed himself deeper and deeper within her body. Her legs wrapped themselves about him, and she whimpered with the pleasure they were sharing. There seemed to be no real beginning or end to their heated encounter. She felt herself soaring higher and higher and higher; she knew he was with her and clung hard to him.
"I can't stop," he whispered desperately in her ear.
"I don't want you to," she responded. "Oh, Rafe! I have never known a lover like you, my darling!"
"Nor I," he answered. He wanted to go on and on forever with her, but then his body betrayed them, and his love juices gushed forth. He cried out in his anguish, but then the sound of her own pleasure reached his ears. She had released her own passion with his. His arms enfolded her tightly, half in comfort, half with his deep love for her.
They fell asleep, their bodies still locked together and intertwined. When they woke an hour or more later his manhood was hard once again as it rested within her lush body.
"You are amazing," she said softly, moving with him in the cadence of passionate lust.
"Only for you," he declared. "Only for you, my wife." His hard body pinioned her beneath him as he once again brought them to a sweet fulfillment, demanding to know afterward, "Was your caliph as passionate, wife?"
"Aye, and sometimes more so, but he did not really love me, Rafe. He only desired me. I was told passion is better shared by two people who love one another. Until now I did not know the wonder of it all. Only with you, husband. Only with you!"
From that moment on they were as one. During the snowiest winter in memory they spent a great deal of time making love to one another. There was, after all, little else to do until the spring. Rhonwyn realized she was happier than she had ever been in all of her life. Rafe found a peace unlike any he had ever known since he had found himself responsible for Ardley and his sister Katherine. It was so different with Rhonwyn, his beautiful wife with her exciting erotic erudition and her independent spirit.
She had taken up her weapons again, practicing with her two grizzled Welsh retainers, Oth and Dewi, in the snowy stableyards. He remembered Edward's complaints about such activities, but Rafe found his wife's skills fascinating. He didn't bother to ask where the alborium she used with such proficiency had come from, for he knew the answer would have really been no answer at all. He had absolutely no fear for her as she wielded her sword and a main gauche. She was to his eyes one hell of a fighter and certainly far better than he had ever been with weapons. Fortunately this knowledge did not disturb him at all. Edward, of course, had been less certain of himself, and Rhonwyn's nontraditional skills had been a great source of irritation to him despite his fondness for her. I am the better husband for Rhonwyn, Rafe thought.
The winter slowly disappeared, and there was a great deal of new life at Ardley. The ewe sheep had lambed well, and there were a goodly number of his cows who had calved. The offspring dotted the green hillsides. As the spring progressed the fields were plowed and the seed distributed for planting. Rhonwyn actually found herself busy with housewifely duties such as airing the featherbeds and picking violets to candy. They rode together and hunted rabbits. One day Glynn appeared in the brown robes of a Benedictine to tell them he had indeed joined the order at Shrewsbury Abbey, and while it would be a year or more before he took his final vows, he was happy.
"And your music, little brother? What of your music?" Rhonwyn asked him. "Are you allowed to sing and play?"
"Aye," he replied with a smile. "And the music I make now is to God's glory. It is the very best I have ever done!" Reaching out, he took his sister's hand in his. "You are happy, Rhonwyn. Really happy, and I am glad to see it."
"I love him," she said simply.
"He loves you," Glynn responded, "and that is another cause for my happiness. Now, I expect nephews and nieces in good order, sister."
She laughed. "If you do not get them it shall not be from want of trying on our part." Then she grew more serious. "You have not just come for the reasons you gave, brother. What is the truth?"
"Our kith and kin in Wales are causing difficulties once again, sister. We hear things more often in the abbey than outsiders would. Tad, it is said, attempts to wriggle out of his oaths to King Edward. Tad's enemies seek to unseat him, but this time they may have English aid in their endeavors. There are many who seek the king's favor and will do whatever they must to gain it. You are Llywelyn ap Gruffydd's daughter, and therefore you are vulnerable. Once the king has solidified his position he will turn an eye to Wales and the problems our father is causing. If I am recalled, I will be considered little threat in my abbey, but you, sister, may find yourself a pawn in this matter."
"How so, Glynn?" Rafe de Beaulieu asked his brother-in-law.
"It is not the English you need fear," Glynn answered. "Rhonwyn is your wife, and they will expect you to keep her in order." He smiled at them both, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "Not knowing my sister, of course. It is our Welsh brethren who could prove dangerous. Pray God you have no children right now. Tad's enemies will do whatever they must to harm him. Be vigilant."
Rafe nodded. "What of Oth and Dewi?" he asked Glynn.
"They are loyal to my sister and therefore to you as well."
"Even against their Welsh brothers?" Rafe said.
"We are their family first," Glynn responded. "They would not betray us to Tad's enemies."
"We will be watchful," Rafe assured Glynn, "and I thank you for your warning."
"When will I see you again?" Rhonwyn asked her brother.
"When you come to Shrewsbury, sister," he told her. "The abbot allowed me to come to Ardley only because he knows the truth of my identity and understood the seriousness of the situation."
"Now you see what marrying ap Gruffydd's daughter has gained you," Rhonwyn teased her husband later that night as they lay abed.
He took up a lock of her golden hair and kissed it. "Aye," he drawled softly. "You are a dangerous woman, wife."
"Our connection makes your position potentially hazardous, Rafe," she said seriously. "The Welsh are fierce fighters, and you know what is said of them. That they pray on their knees and their neighbors. I would not want to see Ardley destroyed because of me or my father."
"You worry too much," he told her, and let his fingers caress the nape of her neck. "Do not fret, dearling. I will protect you."
"Hah! I may very well have to protect you," she laughed, and he chuckled at her sly observation, not in the least offended.
"If it comes to that, I will welcome your fighting skills, wife, but for now it is your other skills I prefer." His hand tightened on her neck, and tilting her head back, he kissed her hungrily. His mouth was hard. His lips scorched her lips, wet and hot and eager.
"Devil," she murmured when he finally took his mouth from hers. She twisted her body subtly, rubbing against
him teasingly.
"Witch!" he returned, attempting to hold her still. But she was quicker than he was and squirmed from his grip, turning her body and steadying herself as she straddled his torso, her tempting little bottom facing him, revealing her sex to him with its little jewel that peeped from beneath the coral flesh. He groaned with pleasure as she leaned forward and took his manhood into her mouth. Bending, he offered her the same service, his tongue finding her sensitivity and working her fiercely until she cried out, releasing his aching member that now longed to bury itself within her.
"Oh, Rafe!" she sighed as she rolled herself onto her back and held out her arms to him.
Sliding between her legs, he entered her hot wet love channel, filling her completely, and then he lay still for a moment atop her. Her breasts were soft beneath his chest. Her torso was silken. He could feel her fingers tangling in his dark hair, kneading at his scalp with her anticipation. Raising himself slightly on one hand, he pushed a finger into her mouth, and she sucked at it so hard he thought she would swallow it. He withdrew slightly, and then thrust hard into her again, and she whimpered with her desire. How often in the months since she had given herself to him had she controlled their passion with her wonderful and varied sexual games? Tonight, however, he wanted to be in charge. Pushing himself up, he sat upon her thighs, his throbbing member deep within her body.
"Please!" she whispered.
"I am not ready," he said softly, his hands reaching out to fondle her sweet round breasts.
"You are as hard as rock within me!" she half sobbed.
"Aye, and I would remain that way for now. Was your master, the caliph, always in such a hurry, wife?" He moved subtly on her. "Old men are frequently in haste lest they lose their ardor." He gently squeezed the soft twin mounds.
"He… c-complained as do y-you. Oh, God, I want it!" she cried desperately.
A Memory of Love Page 31
