What filled her burst with his words until it flooded her with sensations so glorious Johanna cried out in the wonder of it. Still, he moved within her, each thrust more urgent than the last. Pleasure grew. At the very instant she thought she could bear it no longer, Rob cried out. Johanna swore she felt his seed as it entered her.
Yet gasping against his exertions, Rob relaxed atop her to kiss her lips, her cheeks, her brow, until he finally nuzzled at her ear. Adrift on a hazy sea of spent passion, Johanna shifted to better accommodate the weight of his body atop her. Oh, but there was glory to be had in lying so with him. She could feel his heart beating against hers as if they shared but one.
Johanna awakened deep in the night. Her head was pillowed on the bulk of Rob’s shoulder; his arms were around her as he held her close to him. She listened to the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. Her arm was atop the blankets. The interior of the bed was now breathlessly cold. Tucking the bedclothes over her, she shivered. They lay so close that this involuntary movement sent the wondrous sensation of her skin against Rob's shooting through her all over again. Johanna smiled. Rob was right. There was great joy to be had in sleeping with the one you loved.
Awe filled her. To think, this would be hers to own for all the days of her life. Turning her head slightly, she pressed a kiss to his arm.
Rob drew a sudden breath at her caress, then shifted and stretched. Bending his head, he kissed, her shoulder then stroked his hand down her arm until he could lace his fingers between hers. "I knew it would be marvelous to wake next to you. Dear God, but I love you. How have I existed for all these years without you at my side?"
Johanna smiled. "You mean in your bed." It was a soft taunt.
Rob raised himself on an elbow to look over her shoulder at her. His face was all shades of gray, the lift of his cheekbone lighter than the line of his beard. She could feel more than see the frown that touched his brow. "I want you for deeper reasons than to warm my bed."
She rolled onto her back to look up at him. "I know that." Raising a hand, she smoothed her palm down the strong line of his chest. "It's just that at this very moment I cannot think of any better reason for wanting you. Touch me again," she begged him quietly, "and let me touch you until I am sated with the feel of you."
Rob's smile was a gleam of white. "How long do you think that might take?"
"No longer than three days," she replied.
"Three days? Why so short a time?"
"Because," she replied,running her fingertip down the length of his torso to where his shaft already thickened in response to her play, "that is how long it will take for the tailor to make me a new gown."
She closed her hand around that part of him that was most male. As he caught his breath at what she did, she spoke on. "I have no clothing here save that novice's gown. Somehow, I cannot think you want the world to watch as you debauch a poor defenseless nun.”
His laugh was low and deep. "Three days? Without a stitch of clothing to your name?" he asked again easing back down alongside her. His fingers came to rest at the peak of her breast.
It was her turn to gasp. “Unless you would buy me something from the old clothes seller.” It was a weak retort.
“My wife does not wear another's castoffs." He lowered his head to nuzzle her ear. "Do you think if I pay the tailor more than he asks he might stretch it to four?”
First, some notes about the history in this book
There was no standardization of date in the twelfth century. Clerks, depending on their affiliation, might name a day the first day in the first month of the first year of a particular monarch's reign. Or, a pope's. Or, an abbot's or bishop's rule. For common folk, it was the rotation of holy festivals that marked their days, e.g., the plow races on the first Monday after Epiphany or the first plowing done on Candlemas. A child was more likely to remember his or her saint day than his or her birthday.
It's for that reason that I chose to use saint days in delineating the events of this book. Saint Agnes's Eve was an appropriate date to begin Rob and Johanna's reunion, for, by legend, this is the day when a woman divines her future husband. Of course, in Johanna's case, it is both a past and future husband.
For those who wish to know, the speaking of secret vows, as Rob and Johanna did, could actually be considered a legitimate marriage. There were cases where a charge of bigamy is used to separate a later marriage so the two who'd exchanged these sorts of vows could be reunited. The creativity of medieval couples in circumventing the patriarchal habit of arranging unions to suit the family rather than the individual never ceases to astound. Now, as to the horarium. A monk's schedule was not necessarily fixed. Services flexed to fit the available daylight hours, longer in summer, shorter in winter. However, for the purposes of this book, I have given the hours a strict definition:
Matins
Lauds
Prime
Terce
Sext
None
Vespers
Compline
12:00 midnight
3:00 A.M.
6:00 A.M.
9:00 A.M.
12:00 noon
3:00 P.M.
6:00 P.M.
9:00 P.M.
Now a note from me
Thank you for reading A Love for All Seasons, the last of my stories about the FitzHenry brothers. If you liked this book (or even if you didn't, I suppose) please consider leaving a review. I thought I'd take a moment and give you a little context for this book. The series was born in 1978 when I had a dream about two people, the hero and heroine of Winter's Heat Rannulf and Rowena, in Medieval England. This was a time in history that I didn't know anything at all about. In the dream they conveyed to me some of their very complicated relationship, which seemed completely understandable to me some eight centuries later. As I woke up I caught myself saying "I have to write this book!" But I also knew I wanted to write an accurate novel because I believe wrapping historical facts up in a good fictional story will teach you more about history and the way people lived in times past than any textbook. Twelve years of research ensued before I felt capable of recreating this amazing time period. The books followed; #1 was Life in a Medieval Castle, #2 was Life in a Medieval Town, #3 was Life on a Medieval Manor and #4 was Medieval Sheriffs and Politics. (And you thought they were just novels.)
"So now what?" I asked my brilliant son Justin after I finished Autumn's Flame. His answer: "You haven't done one about the bastard son of the maid." And, boom! Just like that, Rob appeared and I got to explore The Medieval Merchant's Life.
As a thank you to all of you out there who turned Rannulf and Rowena into best sellers, I'm offering my novella "An Impetuous Season" FREE on my website. Click here to download it
In case this is the first book of mine you've read, here is the full list. And thank you!
The Graistan Chronicles (sometimes known as the Seasons Series)
Winter's Heat
Summer's Storm
Spring's Fury
Autumn's Flame
A Love for All Seasons
The Lady Series, although two doesn't quite a series make. There were supposed to be more. Hmm, I wonder... .
Lady in Waiting
Lady in White
The Warrior Series
The Warrior's Wife (previously The Warrior's Damsel)
The Warrior's Maiden (previously My Lady's Temptation)
The Warrior's Game
My only Regency era book. I'm sorry. It was too modern for me. I'm better off back when guys just bashed each other with hunks of steel.
Almost Perfect
Monica Sarli's Memoir Men-ipulation
And then there's Monica Sarli's memoir that I co-wrote. Men-ipulation is a memoir of addiction and recovery. After fifteen years abusing Cocaine, Crack and (her personal favorite) Heroin, Monica chose on August 4, 1986 to clean up and hasn't looked back-even though cleaning up cost her everything she valued in life. For anyone struggling with addiction
or who loves someone suffering with addiction, this is a book you won't want to miss. (And, yes she really talks like that...all the time.)
By the way, I'll note here that I am title defective. For the first five books, my fabulous stepdaughter Amberly Neese came up with the original and very clever idea of using the seasons, and the publisher ran with it. Beyond that, well, I count on the kindness of editors and others.
If you want to keep up with me or send me a note, please feel free to email me at [email protected] or visit my website at DeniseDomning.com where you can read my blog. I'll warn you, the blog has nothing to do with writing. Instead, it's the chronicle of how my husband takes me on a journey into Green Living and Permaculture. I have a feeling this will turn out to be a mangling of "Under the Tuscan Sun" and "Green Acres".
Wish me luck (I'll need it) and happy reading!
A Love For All Seasons Page 33
