by Dee Brice
Her skin turned pink, but she complied and continued to hold his gaze with hers. “Ahh. ‘Tis nice but not as nice as when you touch me. Touch me, Edgar. Please.”
“Not yet.” He joined her on the bed. “Open your legs for me, Rowena. Spread them wide then touch yourself there. Caress yourself until you near release. Yessss. Like that. Yes.” He replaced her fingers with his own until he felt her juices gush. Then he lapped her to completion, filled his nostrils with her scent, his mouth with her nectar, his ears with her voice crying his name.
He slid up her trembling body then licked tears from her cheeks. “I hurt you,” he whispered.
“No,” she countered firmly. Opening her eyes, she smiled up at him. “I am crying because…I have never been given such a perfect gift. What you just did…the pleasure it brought me…I have no words, Edgar.”
“You need no words, Rowena. My joy comes from giving you this pleasure, this release that is nearly the most intimate of all lovemaking.”
“Thank you.” She curled her fingers around his cock, shifting her hips so it rested at her slick opening. “Will you give me the most intimate of all lovemaking, Edgar?”
“Gladly.” He eased into her welcoming sheath, rocking gently back and forth.
“You cannot hurt me, dearling.”
“Does this gentle coupling displease you, sweeting? No, your darkening eyes, the pulse throbbing in your neck, your trembling body… Everything about you tells me you like this.”
“I do but…does it please you as well?”
“’Tis perfect. For now.”
“And later, m’lord? What do you intend for later?”
He grinned. “I intend to show you why Yvonne’s tub is so large.”
“Ooooh Edgar!” She fluttered her lashes then moaned. “Ahh Edgar.”
Her spasms built. Sucked him deeper and deeper until, together, they reached the crest of a climax that tumbled them into oblivion.
Chapter Thirteen
Roland arrived midmorning, dressed in velvet and furs as if already a king. His destrier wore an embroidered silken caparison embroidered with Roland’s coat-of-arms. The bosses of its bridle were polished so well they sparkled in the bright sunlight.
Edina whispered to Willia, “If his clothing is any indication, his widow, the Duchess of Innerford, left him well-off.”
Rowena, shivering with disgust, murmured, “He has grown a beard.”
Giggling softly, Edina observed, “Most likely to disguise his weak chin.”
Standing on the castle stairs, they watched their visitor approach. Yvonne stood at the tip of the triangle they’d formed, Gareth at her side and slightly behind. Basil and Beatrix stood to her left.
“What think you, Gareth?” Yvonne said in a quiet voice intended only for him. “Had we a daughter of marriageable age, would you allow Roland to marry her?”
“Clothes not making the man, I would have to know more about him.” Yvonne’s hand tightened on his forearm, indicating her displeasure with his response. “However, dressed as he is in this warm weather, I would gauge him a fool.”
A smile quirked the corner of her mouth before she sobered and watched the baron dismount. When a groom stepped to his side he gave the lad a displeased glare but handed off his reins.
“See that he is fed,” Roland said curtly as if the groom had little talent for his work.
“At least he treats his horse well,” Pippa said loud enough for Roland to hear.
Sketching a bow, he removed his gloves, looping them through his belt. A long sword bumped his leg as he came up the steps. Nodding at Basil, he eyed Yvonne and Gareth, obviously uncertain who ruled here.
A point against him in Yvonne’s mind. Likely he had spent last night in Basil’s encampment and could have asked anyone there about who ruled here. If Roland was this careless coming onto unknown land in peacetime, how would he react in times of war?
“Your Grace.” He bowed so low the feather in his cap touched the step below Yvonne’s slippered feet.
“Welcome to Marchonland,” Yvonne said when he straightened “We have heard much about you, m’lord duke.” He might not have talked with Basil’s men, but he had bragged to them. And to her own knights.
He started. “’Tis my pleasure to be here,” he replied as if he were her equal, omitting the courtesy of her title.
“Queen Yvonne has planned several amusements,” Gareth said, offering his arm to her before heading up the castle steps. “For today, she has planned a river trip. Do you enjoy fishing, Roland?”
Beatrix called out gaily, “I caught the largest trout only a few days ago.” Basil shot her a frown that she ignored. “We shared it for nuncheon. ‘Twas delicious.”
“I’m sure it was, m’lady,” Roland said smoothly. Turning his attention toward Yvonne and Gareth, he said, “I leave fishing to my cooks or their lads.”
“Then you are about to experience an adventure,” Yvonne said as they entered the great hall. “Gerard, Edgar, come greet our guest.”
Dressed in rough-spun rochets belted with hemp, trunk hose and wooden clogs her new brothers looked like serfs. A fact Roland absorbed, a sneer curling his thin upper lip. As they approached the group, Rowena and Edina went to the princes and placed their hands on the men’s forearms.
Roland glared at the two couples then focused his mud-brown gaze on Edina, saying, “Is this the lad you’ve supposedly give your heart, Rowena?”
Giggling, looking up at Gerard, she said proudly, “He is.”
Yvonne made the introductions. “Gareth’s and my brothers, Prince Gerard and Prince Edgar.” Waving her fingers in Roland’s direction, she added, “Roland, Duke of… What is your dukedom, sir? I cannot recall ever hearing its name.”
“Innerford. It lies—”
“I recall it,” Gareth said. “It lies on the far reaches of Outerford. A small estate but well-maintained.” He eyed the somewhat stout duke. “I believe my man can find clothes more suitable for fishing, Roland.”
“Ladies, you may wish to change as well,” Yvonne said as Willa and Pippa came down their towers’ stairs, Vinn and Banan at their heels. All were dressed for fishing. “’Twill be even warmer once we leave the river for our meal.”
Beatrix herded her daughters toward Aida’s tower, saying, “Oh, I hope I can catch another trout the size I caught…” Her voice faded as the three disappeared up the stairs.
“With your leave,” Roland said, voice and body stiff with disapproval, “I shall stay as I am. I am quite comfortable in these clothes.”
“As you please then,” Yvonne replied as she and Gareth strode away. Willa called for refreshments. Pippa led Roland and Basil toward chairs near the hearth.
“You realize of course,” Basil muttered to Roland, “’twas Edina to whom you spoke. While ignoring Rowena completely.”
“Aye? Oh yes,” the duke blustered. “Of course I recognized which was which. I know their games, Basil, but thought to rouse Rowena’s jealousy by noticing her sister. So…Rowena fancies herself in love with the stripling prince.”
“I begin to see why,” Basil muttered, adding in full voice, “Aye, she does.”
“Then you sent for me just in time to save her from herself. I am more mature and know how to bring her to her senses. ‘Twill not take long to change her mind.”
Eyeing the shorter, stouter man, Basil said, “Your cooks must feed you well, Roland. You’ve…filled out.”
“Very well indeed, Basil.” Roland patted his chest in the upper region of his belly.
“Do you hunt, m’lord?” Pippa asked, a challenge in her voice.
“With falcons, aye. Now there’s a sport fit for kings,” Roland replied, winking slyly at Basil.
What have I done? Basil wondered. What have I done?
* * * * *
Pippa’s Tower Guest Quarters
Beatrix told him exactly what he had done that very night as they lay in the curtained bed that closed out all light. As was
their custom, her head rested on his naked shoulder. Her bare breasts still firm against his side and chest. Her legs entwined with his.
“You should not have sent for Roland,” she said softly, her fingers combing his chest hairs.
“I know.” Sighing, he stroked her unplaited tresses, savoring their silky texture along his fingers. Tugging gently, he felt her cheek slide upward and, even in the dark, could imagine her clear blue eyes gazing up at him. “I never truly intended Rowena should wed Roland.”
“I know. But what possessed you to herd her toward Gerard like a sheep? ‘Tis clear she loves Edgar.”
“I realize that. Now. Just as I now see how much Edina loves Gerard. I suppose…” Sensing his wife’s gaze still rested on his unseeable face, he smiled. “I remember when I first saw you.”
She groaned, laughter in the sound. “Shaped like a pear, no breasts worth mentioning, my hair straight as a stick.”
“And gleaming like gold. What I could see of it beneath your templette. And your eyes so blue I thought myself in heaven. I can admit now that I studied your mother’s face and form and imagined you a little taller with a somewhat fuller bosom.”
“I wished myself short and slender with breasts no larger than they were and hips as absent as a boy’s. Ah, the lies our troubadours sang about the perfect woman. The figures my sisters and I believed in and prayed for with all our hearts.”
Sliding his hand down her back, Basil cupped her buttock. “I have always admired your arse.”
“It does fit your hand nicely.” Drawing a deep breath, she said, “What will you do about Roland?”
“I don’t know. Too late, I suppose, to ask Gar—Yvonne to arrange a boar hunt. ‘Twould be easy to have an arrow go astray.” Her gasp, her pulling away, made Basil hasten to reassure her. “Wound him only, my love. An excuse to send him home.”
“An excuse for him to linger here and order us all to do his bidding.”
“As if Yvonne would allow such a thing.”
Laughing, Beatrix resettled at Basil’s side. “I can’t believe it. You twice acknowledged Yvonne’s rule here.”
“Gareth does. And not because Yvonne demands it. They seem comfortable with their roles. I would, however, like to see what happens when they reside at Puttupon.”
“Perhaps they’ll invite us to visit. Which does little to solve the problem of Roland,” she reminded him.
Frowning at the canopy he could only imagine, he said, “I shall ask Yvonne to set a guard on both our daughters. Not that I think Gerard and Edgar incapable of defending the twins. ‘Tis more that I believe Roland will try to make off with one of them.”
“Rowena?”
“Or Edina. I sense he’ll soon grow desperate enough not to care which he marries.”
Brooding, they lapsed into silence. At length, just as Basil felt his eyelids droop, his wife said, “I hope our daughters are with their betrotheds. Even though Roland sleeps in our encampment, I cannot rest knowing he is so near.”
“If our children are with the princes, ‘twould solve the problem of Roland altogether. I doubt he’d marry either girl knowing she had lain with another. Or, worse, might carry another man’s get.”
If you believe that, husband, you are more foolish than our jester.
* * * * *
Kerrie’s unladylike snort made Alexandre glare at her.
“’Tis impolite to eavesdrop on people’s thoughts,” he scolded gently.
“Since I cannot press an ear to their door, how else will I know what is happening? How else can I learn how I may help?”
* * * * *
“Had you not helped, Basil would not have sent for Roland. The twins would already have married their princes and all would be right in the world.”
Slanting Alexandre an impatient look, she said, “Since I did help ‘tis now up to me to make things truly right.”
“How, my queen, do you intend to do that?”
She nibbled her lower lip then said, “I shall find a…another woman and make Roland fall in love with her.”
“I greatly doubt you can make Roland love anyone more than he loves himself.”
She quirked one eyebrow, saying, “You may have arrived at the perfect solution—especially when I find it distasteful to make any woman suffer that knave’s attentions.” Peeking around the full moon, she began to rummage through the cellars where Alexandre’s trade goods resided like chests of buried treasures.
“Ah, here they are—some of the mirrors you gave me that I never used.”
“Why not?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
His expression touched her so deeply she kissed him. “I believed you thought me vain.”
“A beautiful woman is most usually vain—at least a little.”
“As are most handsome me. Both Brecc and Cesare—my second and third husbands—”
“Having died before you married them, I know who they are.”
“Often lingered over their own reflections, be they in a pond or in a hand mirror.”
Alexandre chuckled as he stroked his hand through Kerrie’s auburn tresses. “Since our daughter has planned hunting for tomorrow’s activity, how will you introduce mirrors, my love?”
“You’ll see, dearling.”
“Devious woman,” Alexandre said, pride in his emerald eyes.
“I learned from a master, my love.”
* * * * *
The Next Morning
Roland met the hunting party outside the barbican, a hooded tiercel on his gloved wrist, its bells jangling softly when his hackney shifted restlessly.
Yvonne and Gareth rode with peregrine falcons on their wrists, Basil and the twins with short-winged sparrow hawks. Gerard and Edgar carried merlins. Beatrix rode a gentle palfrey, her wrists bare of any hunting hawk.
After greeting each other, Roland said, “It appears Your Grace intends to hunt all kinds of prey this morn.”
“Aye,” Yvonne replied even though Roland had addressed Gareth. “Our forests house both water birds and those that nest in trees. Our hounds will flush ducks and larger prey. Our youngest lanner will join us for a time. ‘Tis her first true test from her falconer’s arm.”
She smiled at a lad of medium build who agilely bowed while holding his lanner aloft. Upright once more, he sang to the bird while stroking her breast feathers gently.
“How many falconers have you?” Roland asked, lifting his tiercel and seeming to peer into its shiny bells. His right hand groomed his beard.
“Including Young John here, we have eight. Two train our pigeons.”
Roland glanced curiously at her but quickly refocused on the bells dangling from the tiercel’s legs.
Shrugging, Yvonne led the party toward Marchon River and the forests beyond. The twins, oddly quiet, rode beside Gerard and Edgar, Basil, Roland and Beatrix trailing behind.
In a small clearing with a pond and stream at its center, Young John released his lanner. She circled overhead as greyhounds flushed the ducks. She stooped, caught her prey in midair then returned at her falconer’s call to land on his outstretched arm. Grinning Young John sang to her again, stroking her breast and wings. Later he would feed her the duck’s heart. For now he rewarded her with a piece of raw chicken.
“Well done.” Yvonne praised both hawk and falconer, frowning when she spied Roland leaning far to his right and seeming to gaze at his own reflection in the shallow water. His tiercel shifted restlessly on his left wrist and screeched.
The party continued toward the river. As they crossed a shallow ford, Yvonne noticed Roland falling behind, apparently fascinated by something in the water.
“I wonder what he seeks,” Gareth muttered as the hounds flushed a crane.
“Mine!” Yvonne cried, freeing her peregrine at the same time Roland loosened his tiercel.
Seeing Roland’s hawk trying to catch her fleeter, more powerful peregrine, Yvonne whistled for her hawk to return. She would not risk the birds confronting each other rat
her than their targeted prey.
Roland seemed paralyzed, unable to do more than watch as the hawks soared toward the crane, the peregrine outdistancing the tiercel and downing her prey. The tiercel seemed determined to drive off Yvonne’s hawk, but it was driven away by several hounds and their falconers. At last, Roland found his voice and summoned the tiercel to his arm. Enroute the bird apparently mistook the plume on Rowena’s templette for prey and flew directly at her head. Her horse reared, throwing her to the rocky ground. She lay so still the others could not move, fearing her dead.
Edgar reached her first. His murderous glare at Roland belied the gentleness in his hands as he examined his fallen princess then gathered her into his arms.
In silence the hunting party returned to Marchon Castle, Roland still enchanted by the silvery bells on his tiercel’s legs.
* * * * *
Yvonne’s Tower Guest Quarters
When Rowena opened her eyes, she saw Edgar peering anxiously down at her. Reaching up, she stroked the frown from his forehead, drawing him down to kiss him.
“How do you feel?” he asked, soothing her forehead and gazing deeply into her eyes.
“Like an idiot,” she replied. “I promise, Edgar, I shall never wear another feather on any gown or cap or hat.”
“Roland is the idiot! Had Yvonne not ordered him to return to your father’s encampment I’d have gutted him!”
Rowena once more rubbed the frown from Edgar’s brow. “’Tis plain Roland needs a better falconer.”
“He needs a wet nurse. A nanny to follow him about and ensure he does no mischief.”
She laughed. “He did seem distracted.”
“Enough of Roland. I have a surprise for you.”
“Father has consented to our marriage?”
“Aye. But even better—almost as good,” he amended quickly with a wry grin. “Pippa has promised us a foal as a wedding present.”
“Oh! Oh my!”
“Aye. ‘Tis difficult for her to sell her horses let alone give one away. I tried to refuse but…” He shrugged.
“They are like her children.”
“She knows we’ll take good care of the foal. And she has loaned Gerard and Edina a stallion and mare to start their stable at Serenity.”
