In the early dawn the earl of Witton awoke. His bride was still cuddled next to him. He studied her carefully, realizing that she was quite a pretty creature. Her skin was very fair, and her auburn hair had golden lights in it, unlike her sister Banon, whose tresses were a deeper auburn in color. Just looking at her aroused him, and he was surprised by it, but then of course she was a new sensation for him. Nay, that was not it. He had never been so roused by any woman. He ran a gentle hand down the curve of her body as she lay on her side by him.
Philippa opened her eyes, startled, and then she remembered where she was. Her eyes met his, and she blushed at the intimacy that surrounded them. She was not used to it, but she supposed in time she would be. She gave him a small smile. He said nothing, pushing her onto her back and mounting her. For some reason it seemed right, and she was to her surprise eager for them to couple again. She slid her arms about him, drawing him down into an embrace as he pushed himself slowly into her eager body. “Ahh, that is good,” she told him softly.
“Tell me what it feels like when I am inside of you,” he said low.
“It is difficult to explain,” she began. “I find I already enjoy the feel of you as you enter my love channel. You fill me, and I feel myself wanting to draw you in further. I want to enclose my flesh about your manhood. I never want to let it go. I lose my identity as we become one, my lord.”
“I feel powerful when our bodies are joined,” he admitted to her. “I am the aggressor, and yet somehow you control me, Philippa. Ah, little one, to be inside you I find unbearably sweet,” he said. And then he began to kiss her mouth.
He kissed her until Philippa’s head was spinning. The sensation of his lips on her, his manhood inside her, was almost too incredible to bear. He filled her and his member throbbed, beating against the walls of her love channel until she was moaning with her eagerness to be totally possessed. “Do it!” she begged him. “Do it, and do not stop!”
He moved slowly within her, increasing his tempo and rhythm until Philippa’s head was thrashing wildly on the pillows. The sight of her desire for him was almost unbearable. He thrust harder and deeper until she began to scream softly with her pleasure.
Philippa wrapped her legs about him, allowing him deeper access. It was incredible, and she now understood her mother better, she thought, than she ever had before. Her head was spinning, and yet she still managed some control over herself as the pleasure began to burgeon and grow until she knew she was going to die, and she didn’t care. Only the desire counted for anything. Her body began to shake from the inside out. She was dying! “Crispin!” she cried his name. “Crispin!” And then her consciousness was sucked down into a whirling dark vortex of heated pleasures.
He heard her crying his name as she clung to him, but he could only concentrate on the emotions battering him. He could feel himself swelling and growing within her until it was almost unbearable and painful. But then suddenly his member released its hot tribute in spurt after spurt after spurt of his love juices. For a moment he thought that his juices would never stop coming. Would his young bride always have this wickedly lustful effect upon him? God’s boots, he hoped so, even if in the end it killed him!
They slept again, this time exhausted, sprawled upon the bed, their limbs intertwined, leg with leg. And when they finally awoke the sun was just coming up. Outside in the gardens the birds were singing a May song.
Philippa had awakened first this time. She extricated herself carefully from the tangle of their limbs, her eyes studying her husband, blushing at the memories of their recent passion. He had such a strong and vibrant body. Her gaze went to his manhood, and she was amazed to find it limp, and surprisingly small now considering its earlier state.
“You have only worn it out for now, but it will recover,” she heard him say. His eyes remained closed, however.
“Oh!” She blushed at being caught in her perusal. “I have never seen a man’s body until now,” she weakly explained to him.
He chuckled, and now the gray eyes slowly opened. “I hope it is all that you expected,” he said.
“I didn’t know quite what to expect, my lord, but I cannot say that I am disappointed in what I have found,” Philippa told him.
“Another night I will teach you to fondle it, for it enjoys the touch of a woman’s hand, little one, but for now we must arise, although I am tempted to stay abed when I see those adorable little breasts of yours so prettily displayed.”
She drew the coverlet up to cover herself, mischievously sticking her tongue out at him. “I have removed the temptation, my lord,” she told him.
He grinned. “Only my desire to take you to Brierewode before we leave for France prevents me from spending the day here in bed with you, madame,” he explained. “You have proven a most satisfactory armful, Philippa, my lady countess of Witton.”
“And you, my lord, have allayed all of my fears of the marriage bed,” she replied. She slipped from the bed and, finding her chemise, drew it on. Then opening the door to the dayroom she called, “Lucy! His lordship and I will have a bath now.”
Lucy jumped from the chair where she had been sitting awaiting her mistress’s call. She had not dared to enter the bridal chamber this morning. “At once, my lady. Where shall I have them set it up? Out here?”
“Aye, ’tis best. Is the fire hot?” Philippa asked her serving woman.
“Aye, ’tis blazing and very warm,” Lucy replied.
Philippa turned back into the bedchamber. “We shall bathe this morning, for we shall not have the opportunity along the road. Here is something you must learn about me. Unlike so many at court I bathe regularly, and not just once or twice a year. I should like you to bathe with me this morning, my lord.”
“ ’Tis not a habit I find distasteful, madame,” he answered her. “I will be pleased to share your bath.”
“I shared with Banon yesterday, but usually I bathe alone,” Philippa explained. “Please be as modest as you can before my tiring woman, my lord.”
It took some time, but the tub was eventually ready for them. Lucy waited in the dayroom for her mistress and her new master. She had already asked the earl’s valet to lay out fresh clothing for his master in the little chamber next to the bedchamber where Philippa had once slept as a girl. The man moved briskly through the dayroom as the newlyweds washed each other in the large tub. Lucy busied herself in the bedchamber, taking the sheet with the bloodied evidence of her mistress’s virtue off the bed, and setting it aside for Lord Cambridge’s view. Then she laid out clothing for Philippa. The trunks were already packed, although Philippa would leave all of her court clothing in London where it . would be ready when they returned on their way to Dover. Lucy smiled as she heard Philippa giggle, and the earl’s guffaw of laughter. The wedding night had obviously gone well, and she was glad for her mistress’s sake that it had.
“How long will it take us to reach Brierewode?” Philippa asked the earl as they bathed in their tub by the fire.
“Several days. Lord Cambridge and I arranged the trip together. We will go by barge to Henley and then ride cross-country to Cholsey where we will take the river as far as Oxford. From there we will ride. It is probably quicker to ride all the way, but I wanted us to have time alone, little one. I hope you are not unhappy with my plans.”
“It sounds most romantic, my lord,” she told him. “I have never been up the river so far. And it is May. Everything will be coming into bloom.”
Finished bathing, they each joined their servants and dressed. Philippa’s gown of deep blue light velvet had a filled-in neckline with a little wing collar of linen. The sleeves were fitted from shoulder to elbow and had a ruffled linen cuff. The skirt was of one piece with a cord and chain belt from which hung a pomander case. It was the perfect traveling gown, and she would wear it each day. The earl wore a deep blue coat which was pleated from a high yoke and had a velvet collar and lining. It hung to his ankles. His shoes were embroidered.
Des
cending to the hall they ate a hearty meal of oat stirabout, sharing a bread trencher from which they dipped the cereal. There was ham, hard-boiled eggs, butter, cheese, and Philippa’s favorite cherry jam for the cottage loaf. Remembering Lucy’s warning of yesterday about morning ale and the bloat, Philippa drank watered wine as she had when she was a child. When they had finished eating they prepared to embark on the river.
“His lordship’s man and I will meet you and the earl at the inn where you will be spending the night,” Lucy said.
“You aren’t coming with us?” Philippa was surprised.
“No room for a tiring woman and a middle-aged valet on a honeymoon voyage,” Lucy chuckled. “There’s a basket of food for your midday repast, and the oarsmen have food as well. You’ll be fine, my lady.”
“Come along, little one,” the earl called to his bride, and he took Philippa’s hand in his to lead her from the house and down through the garden to the riverside stairs, down to the quay where their barge awaited them.
It was a fair day, a perfect first of May.
“They will already be dancing at court,” Philippa noted with a smile.
“Are you sorry not to be there?” he asked her.
“I should like to be there,” she admitted, “but only if we might be together, Crispin.”
He chuckled. “Lord Cambridge is correct when he says you are a perfect courtier, and I might add that you have a diplomat’s tongue, Philippa, and I should certainly know that, having been in his majesty’s diplomatic service.” He helped his wife down into the beautiful little barge that Thomas Bolton had had made for his cousin, Rosamund, many years before.
It was a pretty little vessel with a cabin containing a bench upholstered in sky blue velvet. There were glass windows that could be lowered on either side of the bench, which was hollowed beneath so braziers of coals could be set there in the winter months. Outside and behind the cabin on the open deck were two upholstered oak chairs, with arms, beneath a blue and gold striped awning. In front of the cabin the two oarsmen sat in a recess in the deck, ready and waiting for their orders. The earl seated his wife in one of the chairs beneath the awning, and sitting next to her called to the oarsmen that they were ready. The barge pulled away from the quay belonging to Bolton House.
The tide was with them, and the barge moved smoothly up the river. Philippa gazed fascinated at the river traffic as it passed them on its way down into London. There were barges carrying early farm produce and flowers. Some barges carried livestock, and others, building materials. Eventually, however, they had the river to themselves. They passed farms, meadows, and small villages. Here and again as the river narrowed their barge glided beneath a bridge. There were waterfowl nesting in the reeds and marshes along the river’s edge. There were even several swan couples, with their cygnets swimming neatly in a row between their parents.
“It has been a long time since I have been in the countryside,” Philippa noted.
“You do not like the country,” he said.
“Nay, I do. I just need to be near enough to court that I may enjoy it as well. My mother’s Friarsgate is so very far from London that it takes forever to get back and forth. She never really liked the court. Her passion is for her estates,” Philippa explained. “And she and Uncle Thomas set up their cotters in a manufactory to weave the wool mama’s sheep produce. They decided it was foolish to send the wool to the Low Countries to be woven when it would provide work for the cotters in the winter. Our wool is exceedingly fine, especially a blue cloth that we do, and so it has been quite successful. They even regulate the amount of that blue the mercers in Carlisle and the European countries can have.”
“That is very clever,” the earl said. “They keep the demand high by keeping the supply low. Your mother, it would appear, is a very clever woman, Philippa.”
“Aye, she is,” Philippa agreed, “but you can understand, knowing me as you do, why I did not want the responsibility of Friarsgate.”
“You will find Brierewode a less complicated home, little one. You need only manage the household, and our children.”
“Not you, my lord?” she asked him mischievously.
He laughed. “I can see we will have a certain number of battles, madame, but you will learn to remember that I am the master of Brierewode, and there can be but one master.” Then he kissed the tip of her nose.
“My lord,” Philippa said, and her cheeks were flushed with irritation, “I will not be treated like a mindless little flibbertigibbet. I may not want the management of Friarsgate, but I am more useful than you would appear to realize. And I shall be the mistress of Brierewode. And I will be at court serving my mistress, Queen Katherine, for part of the year as well. The queen appreciates my value.”
“Your first duty is to produce an heir for me, Philippa,” he said. “Do not forget that, little one.” The gray eyes met her eyes.
“Are you going back on your promise to go to France, my lord? We are expected!” Philippa cried.
“And we will go. I do not give my word lightly,” the earl responded. Then he caressed her face gently. “I may have already put a babe in your belly, madame,” he told her, and he laughed softly when she blushed at his words. “You were a most receptive and very passionate little virgin, Philippa.” His lips brushed her forehead lightly.
“My lord! Do not speak of such intimacies aloud. We could be overheard by our bargemen,” she scolded him primly.
“Twice,” he reminded her in a low voice, “twice you drew my seed most eagerly into your hidden garden where babes are first created. God’s boots, just thinking about it makes me want you again, little one.”
“My lord!” Her eyes pleaded with him for caution.
“I could have you here,” he murmured, taking her hand and pressing it against his heated manhood which was covered by his long coat. “Perhaps later I shall set you upon my lap, slowly, slowly pull up your pretty skirts, and impale you on my lover’s lance. Then I should teach you to ride your eager stallion while I muffled your cries with my kisses, Philippa. Would you like that, madame?”
“My lord, you make me blush. Your bold words are shameful,” she said, but her hand did not pull away from his groin.
“When we get home I shall teach you to hold it and fondle it, little one,” he told her meaningfully. Then he put her hand back in her lap.
Philippa turned her eyes to the river again. Her heart was beating furiously. She felt hot all over, and the gentle breeze upon the river did nothing to cool her. She closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself, but all she could think of was her wedding night, and of the pleasure he had given her. She kept remembering what the queen had taught her maids. The coupling of a married couple was for the purpose of procreation, that more souls be born and baptized in Holy Mother Church. The queen had never said anything about pleasure, and Philippa wasn’t at all certain that she should be enjoying coupling with her husband as much as she had. Nor was she sure the seductive words he was whispering in her ear should be exciting her so. Or that she should be looking forward to being in his arms again, being possessed so completely by him. She started when he took her hand up again, her eyes flying open to look at him.
He kissed her hand, and each finger on it in its turn, and then her palm. “Do not fret so, little one,” he told her. He had seen the play of emotions as they had raced across her lovely face. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.” Then still holding her little hand in his he turned his own gaze to the river they traveled.
Philippa closed her eyes again, realizing that she was tired. Her position at court allowed for little rest, and these last few weeks leading up to their wedding, and then last night. Aye, she was tired. But she was no longer afraid. She wished Banon were here so she could tell her. But Banon would know soon enough that marriage, whatever God might have intended, promised to be wonderful if you were shackled with the right man.
Chapter 14
The barge pulled near the shore of the ri
ver and anchored so they might eat. The two oarsmen carried the earl and his wife to the riverbank on their backs so they would not get wet. Then they returned to fetch the basket of food.
“Go out of sight of this place,” the earl ordered them. “I will call you when we are ready to resume our trip. You made excellent time. We shall be at the King’s Head by sunset. You have food?”
“Aye, milord. And our thanks. We’ll eat and rest a bit,” one of the oarsmen said. They both bowed, and then moved off upstream and into a stand of trees.
Philippa spread the cloth in her basket on the ground and sat down, her skirts blossoming about her. “Come, my lord, and eat,” she invited him.
In the basket they found meat pastries baked this morning, wrapped in a linen cloth, and still warm. There were pieces of roasted capon, bread, cheese, and a small pottery crock filled with strawberries, along with sugar wafers. There was a stone bottle, and uncorking it they discovered it was filled with red wine. The air had grown warmer as they had traveled that morning. They ate, emptying the basket of its supplies.
“I think this is one of the nicest May Days I have ever had,” Philippa told her husband. “And this morning along the river was lovely.”
“We will pass Windsor this afternoon,” he told her.
“I don’t think I have ever seen it from the river,” Philippa answered him. “We used the river from Richmond to Greenwich, but I have never been above Bolton House until the other day. I quite like it.” She lay back upon the grass, with a contented sigh.
With a smile he lay next to her, taking her hand in his. “I will be honest with you, Philippa. Traveling by barge was Lord Cambridge’s idea. He said if the weather was fine we should do it. He said it was romantic, and less troublesome than being in a coach or riding. I was not enthusiastic, but I agreed to go along with his idea. Now I am glad that I did. It is a fine way to spend May Day.” Raising himself up on an elbow he looked down into her face, and then he kissed her.
Philippa Page 27
