Windsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  ‘I’ll not have you insult my wife!’ roared Fielding. ‘Apologize to her at once, or by God, I’ll call you out, cripple or no!’ He had such a grasp on Duncan Bramway’s cravat as he spoke that he was throttling the man. Gasping and unable to speak; Bramway’s face was steadily turning purple as he was shaken as a terrier shakes a rat.

  By now the whole place was in an uproar. Chairs were overturned in the Apollo Room as gentlemen abandoned their pipes and tankards and wineglasses and laid hands upon the antagonists, dragging them apart.

  Bramway, hauled off backwards, had both hands to his throat. He could not speak but wheezed and gasped. Nearby Fielding Lightfoot was being restrained by three or four well-meaning souls whose soothing words were lost in his own roars.

  Through this uproar, Letitia Lightfoot made her sinuous way unnoticed in so much commotion. When she reached Duncan Bramway, who was still stroking his throat and gasping for air, she leaned forward.

  ‘I am nobody’s cast off!’ she cried, and her hand lashed out against his cheek.

  With a screech worthy of a banshee, Amanda Bramway lunged at Letitia - and was jerked back summarily by her friends.

  In a flash Rye Evistock was beside Letitia.

  ‘Mistress Lightfoot, unless you wish to see murder done this night, I think you’d best desist,’ he muttered.

  Letitia, who had made her point and had got her lick in, flashed him a winning smile.‘Come, girls,’ she carolled to her daughters. ‘We must all to bed. You too, Fielding - these Bramways are not worth your attention!’

  And she was off an Rye’s arm while Carolina and Virginia trailed along after and Fielding Lightfoot’s friends urged him forward until they had all reached the stairs, leaving the Apollo Room to the furious Bramways and their friends and observers.

  ‘And that was checkmate,’ murmured Carolina, watching her elegant mother ascend the stairs with her head high. But her own eyes were misty and she almost missed a step. For Letitia had demonstrated her loyalty to Sandy Randolph once again. Characteristically she had come forward - and saved for him the woman who had, all these years, stood between them.

  6

  But by the time they had reached the head of the stairs, Carolina was seeing the funny side of it all. Letitia had worked out her strategy very cleverly - and had triumphed over her rival. Publicly. And Amanda Bramway would probably be frightened enough that she would beg her husband to forget all about the incident - indeed, Letitia had probably prevented a duel between Sandy Randolph and Duncan Bramway that could have left one of them dead upon the snow. Her spirits soared.

  ‘The gossips will have a field day tomorrow,’ she whispered behind her hand to Virginia. ‘They will say the Lightfoots have done it again!’

  A little wan now from the excitement downstairs, Virginia nodded.

  Rye saw Letitia to her door and then walked on with the two girls as a fuming Fielding Lightfoot caught up with his wife and fairly propelled her into their bedchamber.

  ‘I see that life in the Tidewater has not been dull for you,’ Rye said conversationally.

  Carolina shot him a brilliant smile. ‘My parents were in their usual form,’ she declared as they reached their door.

  He opened it and Virginia went in. His hand upon her velvet arm detained Carolina.

  ‘I will get rid of Huddleston if I have to fetch him a blow and render him unconscious,’ he muttered, for Carolina had not been able to pass her mother’s door last night since it had been kept ajar.

  She gave him a witching look.

  ‘I will knock softly,’ he promised. ‘Wait up for me and do not undress for you would be too conspicuous if you were seen in the corridor in your night clothes.’

  She nodded and went in to watch Virginia make ready for bed.

  ‘Are you going to sit up all night fully dressed?’ yawned Virginia as she crawled into bed, for she had not heard Carolina’s whispered conversation with Rye at the door.

  ‘I hope not,’ said Carolina, giving her a bright-eyed look.

  ‘Oh,’ said Virginia, catching on. ‘Oh, I see.’ She sat up. ‘Would you rather I went back down to the common room? I could dress and go down.’

  Carolina shook her head. ‘I thank you, Virgie, for the thought but that would cause comment. People would wonder about it - and Mother would hear. Rye is going to get rid of that man from Maryland who is sharing his room - that Huddleston fellow - somehow.’

  It took about an hour.

  Carolina was on her feet at the first sound of Rye’s discreet knock. A moment later she had the door open and had slipped into the hall. There was no one about. On almost soundless slippers she followed him down the hall to his room.

  ‘What did you do with Huddleston?’ she demanded as he shut the door behind them and they were alone in a dormered low-ceilinged room.

  Rye had gone over to stir up the fire on the hearth. It crackled and sent off sparks. The pattern of its flames cast a glow over the white plastered walls and the bright multicoloured quilt of the bed, which was the small room’s main furnishing. Through the dormered panes Carolina looked out into the blue-black night and saw the snow still coming down, piling up on the window-sill.

  ‘I got him drunk in the common room,’ Rye reported over his shoulder. ‘And it took longer than I thought it would.’ He stood the poker against the brick fireplace.

  ‘And I crossed the landlord’s palm with gold to keep Huddleston down there snoring till morning.’

  She dimpled. ‘What did you tell the landlord?’

  ‘That I was tired and needed sleep - alone in bed.’

  ‘Did he believe you?’

  Rye laughed. ‘Hardly. He winked at me.’

  ‘Sir,’ she told him as she moved seductively towards him and twined her slim arms around his neck, ‘you are compromising my reputation. Indeed I see nothing for it but that you should marry me! Pray latch that door for I do not intend to let you out of here until dawn.’

  With a laugh he pulled her down on top of him on to the bed. It did not have the enveloping softness of the goose-down feather beds at Level Green - indeed the mattress must have been stuffed with wool, and long use had made it lumpy. But the lovers did not care. Under the rafters or in a summer meadow, it was all the same to them. Carolina, seeing the glowing colours the flickering firelight imparted to that worn old patchwork quilt, thought it gorgeous.

  ‘I’ve already latched the door, wench! Did ye not see me reach behind me as we came in?’

  No, she had been aware only of his dark smiling face bent over hers, the flash of his white teeth, the slight masculine scent of whisky and tobacco and leather that emanated from him as she had pressed close against him coming through that door . . .

  He had lifted his head to nuzzle against her throat, her bosom, and now his eager lips were wandering downward, straining against the top of her bodice - already near its limits in restraining her round young breasts.

  ‘You’ll ruin my dress, Rye,’ she cried breathlessly. ‘And I’ve no other to wear!’

  ‘Ah, then we must be very careful, must we not?’ With a lithe gesture he rose, sweeping her up with him. Holding her carefully against him as if she might break, he set her on her feet. ‘Tonight I shall be your lady’s maid,’ he announced. ‘And I shall begin - so.’ He pressed a kiss upon the cleavage between her breasts at the base of her low-cut neckline. The flesh below her crystal-encrusted velvet bodice shivered in anticipation. ‘Perhaps twice,’ he said thoughtfully - and did it again.

  Carolina caught her breath. She could see he was in a playful mood. ‘You can begin by untying my sleeves,’ she suggested, trying to keep calm.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘First, the sleeves.’ Skilfully he untied them - for although they matched the bodice, they were separate from it - and as he removed each sleeve, his fingers sought the underside of her upper arm, toyed with her shoulder, advanced upon the white column of her neck.

  Carolina gave a gasping laugh and pushed h
im away. ‘And now the bodice,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Ah, yes, the bodice.’ He turned her about and began working the hooks on the back of her bodice, his lean fingers tingling along her spine as he did so.

  The bodice came free, falling away at the front, and he whisked it down. Carolina stepped out of it and he tossed the entire gown lightly to a chair before he whirled her about again to face him. His eyes gleamed in the firelight.

  ‘You had best remove those ribands,’ he said in a rich voice, smiling down at her. ‘For I intend to run my fingers through your hair.’

  Carolina’s fingers trembled as she hastily removed the burst of ice-green satin ribands from her white-gold hair. She did not know how pretty she looked in the firelight with her soft breasts moving rapidly up and down with her quickened breathing and the firelight glistening up and down the satin of her petticoat, turning pale green to gold. The sight of her delicate breasts winking at him through the sheer fabric of her chemise was almost too much for Rye. He moved towards her and she knew that gesture - he was about to take her.

  ‘My petticoat first,’ she said quickly, for she had felt a pulse begin to beat responsively in her own throat and she must act quickly if she did not want the petticoat to look in the morning as if it had been slept in! ”Tis - ’tis satin, you see. And satin crumples.’

  ‘I see,’ he said gravely. ‘We must be careful of satin.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said nervously. ‘It is very delicate.’

  ‘So is the skin beneath,’ he observed as he deftly unfastened her satin petticoat and she stepped out of it. As she did so his open palm grazed her buttocks in her light chemise.

  ‘In such weather, you wear so little,’ he marvelled, surveying the luscious piece of womanhood who stood challengingly before him attired only in stockings, slippers and a sheer chemise afroth with lace.

  ‘Well, some wear flannel petticoats and stays and all manner of things,’ she admitted shakily. ‘But not I. I like the feel of sheer cambric against my skin.’

  ‘So do I,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘And even better do I like the silky feel of your bare skin against my own.’ He was pulling down her chemise, trying gently to tug it down over her breasts as he spoke.

  ‘It has a riband drawstring,’ she told him breathlessly. ‘All good lady’s maids know that!’

  ‘And where do we find this drawstring?’ he wondered, feeling about her chemise top, pretending to look for it everywhere - although it was tied in a bow in front. As if he could not see that bow, he kept searching, exploring down her back, under her arms, across the soft tingling mounds of her breasts. His gentle fingers moved caressingly around her narrow waist, and the soft skin of her stomach quivered convulsively at his touch.

  ‘It is hidden!’ he declared in mock dismay. ‘What, shall I look for it under here!’

  And of a sudden he had lifted her skirts and impudently peeked upward.

  Carolina jumped and stepped backward as his dark hair brushed her thigh. She tossed her light chemise skirt away from his head in a frothy billow.

  ‘Stop, you fool, you’ll tear my chemise!’ she said in a shaky voice, but her gaze on his dark head, which he lifted to smile at her, was tender.

  ‘Ah, there it is - the lock that unlocks all!’ he cried, as if he had just found the satin bow. With a swoop he had untied it and stood back to watch the entire chemise glide down her slim body and collapse in a dainty heap around her trim ankles. ‘Tis too cold for you to be standing there clad only in stockings and slippers,’ he chided her. ‘We must get the slippers off at once.’

  He knelt and lifted her left foot and with a quick gesture removed her satin slipper, tossed it to the floor at the corner of the bed. ‘And now the other.’ He removed the slipper from her right foot and tossed it to join its mate.

  He looked up smiling, seeing her face between the twin peaks of her breasts - and lingered over detaching her garters, his warm hands roving over her thighs, his lips kissing her knees.

  ‘Rye!’ she said in a choked voice.

  ‘Ah, there we are!’ Expertly he detached the last garter, flung it to join its mate atop the slippers. ‘And now the stockings, my lady, and we will be ready for bed! On second thoughts, you’re growing cold out here’ - for he had felt her slight shiver - ‘and the stockings may as well be removed in bed with your feet upon me as a bedwarmer!’ He picked her up in a single swoop and delivered her to the bed, where he tossed back the multicoloured quilt and deposited her on the lumpy mattress.

  Carolina leant back luxuriously and made no effort to draw the quilt or blankets or top sheet over her. The sheets were of raw unbleached muslin - not the fine smooth linen sheets she was used to at Level Green - but who cared about that? They made a fine background for her pale body and she was well aware of the tempting display she made with her bright hair cascading down over one breast, the other breast revealed and moving rapidly with her breathing. Her bottom had settled down in one of the hollows of the lumpy mattress so that the sides of her hips were almost hidden by the rise of the sheet around her but the silky hair between her legs caught the firelight and seemed to glitter beckoningly. ‘You have not completed your duties until both garters and stockings are removed,’ she complained seductively.

  ‘Aye, and ’tis all I can do not to remove them at once,’ he told her. ‘But to have you entirely naked in my bed might be a sight that would prove too much for me, and I’d fall into bed with my boots on!’ He was tugging at one of his jackboots as he spoke. ‘Damme, they’re tight tonight!’ he muttered as the boot resisted him.

  ‘Here, I’ll help you.’ Flirtatiously she rose from the bed and presented her naked back to him. ‘Hold out your leg!’ She bestrode the boot, leaning over with her buttocks towards him. ‘Now push me as I pull!’

  ‘Faith, but it goes against the grain to push these away!’ he murmured as, big warm hands against her buttocks, he pushed her body away to help her remove his boot.

  She broke free, panting with the jackboot in her hands. ‘And now the other,’ she said with a winsome smile.

  This time he pulled her to him instead, slid her naked bottom up his thigh until she was seated on his lap and he was toying idly with her breasts, cupping them in his strong hands and tweaking the nipples into hardness as he nibbled her ear.

  ‘It’s too cold for this sort of thing out here,’ she said breathlessly, trying halfheartedly to squirm away from him, for she could feel herself losing control. ‘Come to bed!’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do ever since you arrived,’ he said perversely. ‘Now I think I’ll remove your stockings here on my lap instead.’ While she squirmed he toyed with the tops of her stockings, tickling her knees and thighs as he did so. And then slowly, slowly he eased her stockings down, bending down to rain kisses on her bare tingling breasts as they descended.

  She could feel his hardening manhood against her buttocks, could hear his very real sigh as he put her from him once again to continue disrobing. Once again he deposited her tenderly in the bed and this time she was pulling the covers over her with trembling fingers as she heard his last boot drop.

  Moments later he had joined her beneath the sheets and his warm naked body took the chill off a bed that had been left to the cold dampness all day in a room only heated up this evening.

  Carolina too was in an impish mood. The confrontation below in the Apollo Room had excited her and when Rye sought to grasp her, she slipped away from him, diving under the coverlet. Rye promptly dived in after her and they found themselves headfirst in a dark tangle of blankets and quilt - and Carolina was gigglingly aware that Rye was nipping at her drawn-up knees. She jumped as his warm lips collided with her inner thighs, and darted away from him in mock alarm.

  ‘We’ll suffocate down here!’ she gasped, her voice muffled by the stifling bedclothes.

  He did not heed her. Instead he took his time, deliberately catching her by a flailing ankle and drawing her back to him li
ke a spider to his innermost web. She found that web a most exhilarating place to be. His lips, his hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing - she could not keep still.

  ‘Rye!’ She moved convulsively and gasped as delicious shudders went through her at this sweet assault.

  ‘You want to play?’ She heard his muffled laugh. And of a sudden he had turned her over and nipped her bottom smartly, then whirled her about so that - seemingly from nowhere - his manly hardness was between her pulsing breasts.

  ‘Rye!’ Carolina fought her laughing way up out of the covers to circle his sinewy neck lovingly with her arms. The bedclothes fell in all directions to the floor. But when he would have made love to her she slipped away again, laughing, to the other side of the mattress.

  ‘My playful lady!’ He flipped over on his back, reached out and drew her loved form down on top of him. Panting from her mad exertions, and with her whole body tense and tingling, she rested against the deep throb of his chest and felt the light furring of dark hair graze her nipples as her soft breasts crushed against him. He ruffled her hair. ‘You like a fight, do you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ She moved her head lazily and gave him a gamine smile in the firelight, then nestled closer in his arms, seizing one of his legs in both of hers.

  He looked upon her tenderly - and then before she could more than gasp, she was flipped over again and pinned beneath him and his manliness had penetrated her feminine softness with a single deft stroke that brought alive every nerve of her young body.

  Now the playfulness was over and his hard body was demanding, searching, strumming her innermost female being to a savage exultation and a deep awareness of senses hidden - hidden deep but overwhelmingly powerful now - senses of which she was hardly aware except during these wild moments in his arms. Their passion seemed as always bright and new. Heady and sweet, it was a river of wine on which they drifted this winter’s night in the radiance of summer, and every motion, every half-spoken murmur, was a promise of further delight. On and on they drove each other down that wild river, sweeping through rapids and over falls, ever touching, ever thrilling until their straining bodies seemed melded as one and the river of wine had turned into a river of brandy and intoxicated them, each with the other. Their hair was tangled together, their arms and legs entwined. Outside the snow was falling heavier now; inside the fire on the hearth had burned low - but they were obvious to all.