Philippa

by Bertrice Small

  “Madame, you truly amaze me,” he told her, approval in his eyes.

  “I shall wash your hair, for though Lucy found no bugs in mine that does not mean you have escaped unscathed, my lord.” Then Philippa set about to slosh water on his ash brown hair and wash it. When she had finished, she took up the bathing brush and scrubbed his back, his shoulders, and his arms. She took up the soft flannel cloth and, soaping it, wiped it across his broad chest and over his dear face. She washed and she rinsed until she declared him clean. “Now get out, and let me conclude my ablutions, my lord. The towels are warm.”

  He obeyed, climbing from the tub, taking up a towel with which to dry himself, and then watching with pleasure as the tips of her breasts bobbed above the water while she scrubbed her back. His mouth yearned to close over those tempting little bits of flesh. He toweled off his head, and then wrapped the fabric about his loins, but it did nothing to disguise the burgeoning lust that was beginning to consume him. He had never wanted any woman in the way that he desired Philippa. Philippa, his adorable little wife! Philippa, who not only burned a fire in his body, but in his heart as well. But how could he tell her, when she gave no evidence that her heart was engaged by his. She was sweet, and biddable. She was faithful to the church, and passionate in their bed. But she gave nothing of her emotions even as she gave so generously of her body. “I will wait for you in our bedchamber,” he said, and disappeared through the door into the other room.

  “I will not be long,” she called after him. Holy Mary! she thought. He was so very passionate. Were all men like this? Another question among the many for her mother to answer. And suddenly Philippa knew that she had to go to Friarsgate as soon as possible. If he was passionate, then why did he not love her, and if he did, why did he not declare it? Her mother would surely have the solutions to all her queries. She climbed from her tub, and slowly, carefully, dried herself off. Then sitting by the fire, she rubbed her hair with the toweling until it was dry too. Dropping the towel upon the floor, she walked into their bedchamber.

  “Stop!” he said as she stepped across the threshold. “I want to look at you, little one. You are so outrageously fair, Philippa.” His gaze warmed her flesh, and then he held out his hand to her, and she came forward to take it. He drew her into their bed, pulling her down to kiss him.

  Outside there was a crack of lightning, and Philippa felt as if it were the joining of their lips that had caused it. Their mouths seemed fused together in a hot and wet kiss that deepened in intensity as her naked breasts pressed against his smooth broad chest. She lay atop him, and her hands tangled themselves into his hair even as his ensnared themselves in her thick auburn hair, his fingers kneading her scalp. His body was warm against hers. She could feel his need for her once again, sense his restraint as they sought to savor this heated moment building between them. Finally she drew her head away from his, her lips bruised and actually aching.

  He lifted her up so that she sat upon his torso, her legs on either side of him. She held down his lust with her sweet small bottom, and for now he wanted it that way. Reaching up, he fondled her breasts. They were perfect little spheres of delight. He cupped one breast in the palm of his hand. The fingers from his other hand brushed the tender flesh lightly. He put those fingers in his mouth, and then encircled her nipple with the wetness. She shivered slightly. He took that nipple between his thumb and his forefinger, rubbing it until it had become a very hard little nub. He pinched it, and she made a sound. Looking up at her face he saw that her eyes were closed as she experienced each new pleasure that he offered. He played with the first breast for a time, and then moved on to the second.

  She sighed, but was silent. He knew what he would do next. It was time. After a month of celibacy for them both she would be ready for what he wanted from her next. “Lie back now, little one,” he said low. “Lie back for me, and I will give you a wonderful new experience. You must not be fearful, Philippa. I would never harm you.”

  Her heart beat faster at his words. The unknown frightened her, but every unknown she had unveiled with him had brought her nothing but pleasure. Obediently she lay back. He pushed her legs up halfway, and she felt him press a pillow beneath her buttocks. What was he doing? Her eyes remained closed. She didn’t know if she was ready yet to view him as he made love to her. Then he raised her legs higher, and over her shoulders. She felt his hands holding her firmly in that position. His head? Was that his head between her thighs? Holy Mary, it was! And then she felt his tongue beginning to push between her nether lips and forage in her most secret place. Philippa gasped, shocked. “Crispin!” she managed to cry out, and her eyes flew open.

  He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Trust me, little one,” was all he said, and then his head fell again, and she felt his tongue on her.

  The tongue was the most exquisite torment she had ever known before. It licked, and it lapped her silken flesh. Her juices were flowing faster and more copiously than they ever had. And he was eagerly drinking them down from the sound that his busy tongue was making. Then the tongue touched a place that heretofore only his finger had touched. And that tongue worked back and forth over the sensitive jewel of her womanhood until Philippa was moaning. It was too sweet. She would die of it, but she didn’t. The wave simply rose, and rose, and rose before falling. Twice he pleasured her in this new way, and then he was mounting her. His lover’s lance was pushing into her love sheath. He was moving on her. Her body responded, rising up to meet him again and again until she was whimpering with her need to be satisfied. And then their mutual hunger was met. He exploded his juices into her and, shuddering, fell away from her with a deep groan of satisfaction.

  They lay side by side gasping with the wonder of what had just transpired between them. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, but he said nothing. Why could she not say she cared for him? the earl wondered. Surely what had just happened to them could not have happened did she not love him.

  Philippa felt several tears slip down her cheeks, but she too remained silent. Why would he not say he loved her? But perhaps he didn’t.

  Finally Crispin St. Claire spoke in low tones. “Is it possible that we have made a child this night?” he wondered aloud.

  “I do not know, my lord,” Philippa whispered back, knowing that they had not because of the brew she took each day.

  “I think we have,” he said with certainty. “Such passion between a man and his wife should not go for naught.”

  “I have never considered the passion between us for naught, my lord,” she replied.

  “Indeed, madame?” How interesting, he thought. Her responses to their lovemaking was everything a man could want of a woman, but she rarely spoke on it. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “Shall I call Lucy to bring us our supper?”

  “Hmmm.” She nodded. “Wake me when it comes,” and her eyes closed.

  He reached out and yanked the bellpull. He had already ordered their supper from the kitchens and so he knew what the tray would contain. Putting his arm around Philippa, he lay quietly listening to her sleep. She was very tired from their travels, and he almost wished they did not have to go north in another few weeks, but he had promised her the visit. Her sister’s wedding was important to her, and he needed to meet his in-laws. He considered Philippa’s birthright, and wondered if he was wise in refusing it, in allowing her to refuse it. Aye, he was. The St. Claires of Wittonsby were no great family, nor were they likely to be a great family. The days in which a man might draw his family higher were gone. Hearing Lucy outside in the dayroom, the earl rose from his bed, wrapping the discarded toweling about him, and went to speak with her.

  “Empty the tub out, and then get Peter to help you put it away. Her ladyship will not need you again tonight, Lucy. Was your chamber ready for you?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord,” Lucy said. “Everything was just as I left it, and Mistress Marian is most kind. She has asked me to have supper with her and Peter.”

  “Do the
tub then, and you are both dismissed,” he told the young servant, and returned into the bedchamber, shutting the door behind him.

  Lucy quickly went to the cupboard and pulled out a length of hose. Attaching it to a spout on the side of the tub, she brought the hose over to the window. Drawing back the drapery, she lifted a copper flap on the outside wall and pushed the hose through the opening into a drain that ran down the outside wall of the house. Then hurrying back to the tub she turned a spigot, and the water in the tub began to drain out. The door from the corridor outside opened, and Peter entered.

  “Ah,” he said, “you have it going already. I came to help you so we might go and have supper with my sister. She wants to know more about you.”

  “You can help me get the tub back into its cupboard,” Lucy said. “Why does your sister want to know more about me? What is there to know? I was raised at Friarsgate. My sister is the Lady Rosamund’s tiring woman. I have been with my lady since she was ten years old. There is no mystery about me. I am what you see.”

  “My sister thinks we should marry,” Peter said quietly.

  “What?” Lucy looked very surprised. “Why would she think that?”

  “She says it is a good thing for the earl’s valet and the countess’s tiring woman to be wed. That way each is not distracted in their duty by others,” Peter replied.

  “Your sister is a bossy woman if you were to ask me,” Lucy said sharply. “I’m not of a mind to wed right now. Besides, I think you are probably too old for me.”

  “I am forty,” he answered her.

  “And I am twenty,” Lucy said. “Still, if one day we were to become fond of one another I might consider marriage. But not now, and I will tell your sister so if she presses the issue. Come on now, and help me tip the tub to get the last of the water out. The supper on the table will be cold if we do not complete our duty, and depart. Our master and mistress will not thank us if it is.”

  “I think they are more interested in their bedsport right now than food,” Peter said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Why, bless me,” Lucy chuckled, “you are not all stiff and starch, are you?”

  “We shall not tell Mistress Marian that, however, shall we?” he responded.

  “Nay, we won’t, Master Slyboots,” Lucy said with a grin.

  The tub emptied, together they wrestled it back into the large cupboard in the wall and departed the apartment, Lucy giving the door a little slam on the way out to alert her master that they were gone.

  The door to the bedchamber opened, and the earl came out to inspect the covered dishes on the tray. There was a small dish of oysters that had come up the river today, and he swallowed six down, pouring himself a goblet of red wine and drinking it along with the oysters. Philippa came sleepily from the bedchamber. She was naked. She said nothing, but inspected the tray, and picking up a meat pastry began to eat it hungrily. He poured another goblet of wine and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching for a second pastry, which she devoured as quickly as the first. She peered at the dishes, and seeing a long dish she began picking asparagus in a lemony sauce from it, sucking the meat from the stalks, and licking her lips as she finished each stem of the vegetable.

  He felt his member tingling as he watched her and quickly looked away, taking up next a small haunch of venison, tearing the meat from the bone with his strong white teeth. The venison was flavorful and chewy. He drank more wine. He could never recall in all his life eating with a naked woman. Well, why not? They were man and wife in the privacy of their own chambers. And then, unable to restrain himself, he casually pulled off the toweling around his loins.

  The sound of the toweling hitting the floor caused Philippa to look up. Her eyes met his, sliding slowly down his long and lean body. Then she shrugged, and reached for a piece of capon. They were both still standing at the sideboard, not having bothered to sit in their hunger. Having satisfied themselves somewhat with the oysters, the meat, and the asparagus, they tore the warm cottage loaf apart. Philippa scooped some butter from the crock, smearing it over the bread with her thumb. Then to her surprise he took it from her, and pulling little pieces from the chunk he began to feed her. She reciprocated, putting bits of the cheddar cheese into his mouth. He sucked on her fingers, and she then sucked on his.

  He took the bowl of strawberries, the bowl of clotted cream, and a small jug of honey and set them on the floor before the fire. Then reaching up he drew her down, and kissed her slowly before laying her on her back. Philippa watched him silently as he placed a dab of the clotted cream on each of her nipples, and topped it with a strawberry. He then smeared her torso with the cream and strawberries, and began to eat them one by one from her belly, licking her completely free of the cream. The two little fruits on her nipples he saved for last, sucking on her flesh until she was squirming.

  Finally he spoke. “Did you like what I did to you earlier?” His hot breath tickled her ear.

  She knew exactly to what he referred. “Aye,” she said low. “But I am certain it is very wicked, Crispin.”

  “Aye,” he drawled softly, “it is very wicked.” He nibbled at her lips. “I can show you another way to be wicked, little one. Do you want to be wicked with me?”

  She nodded eagerly, and then watched wide-eyed as he took the small jug of honey and dipped his partly swollen manhood into it. Drawing it out, he sat lightly atop her and pressed himself against her lips. They opened, and her pink tongue began to lick the honey from it, but because the thick sweet was beginning to drizzle with the warmth of his body he pushed himself into her mouth. For a moment Philippa looked startled, but then she began to suck on him until she had removed every vestige of the honey, and he had grown hard in the cavern of her mouth. She released him finally, and sliding down and between her legs he began to pump her fiercely.

  Philippa’s nails raked down his long back. She whimpered, and her whimpers grew into a moan which grew into a scream of total pleasure as he thrust himself back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until her head was spinning wildly, and she was dizzy and weak with the hot pleasure coursing through her. I love him! I love him! she thought, but she would not say it, for he had not said it.

  Their bodies were wet with the passion of their efforts. He ground himself deep into her love channel. He felt her shuddering as she reached the apex of her delight, and yet she did not cry her love for him. Was she incapable of that tender emotion, or had she just a whore’s nature? He didn’t know, and right now he didn’t care. His juices burst forth again, leaving him weak and helpless to his love for her.

  They remained before the fire for some time. Outside the dusk faded into evening. The birds ceased their calls, and the rain pattered gently down with only an occasional rumble of thunder or brief flash of lightning now. The earl of Witton finally got to his feet, and reaching down, pulled Philippa up. Together they walked into their bedchamber and fell into bed where they slept until well after dawn the next day.

  Philippa awoke first, and heard the sounds of morning outside of their window. She lay quietly pondering the events of the previous evening. I have to go back to Friarsgate, she thought. I cannot bear not understanding all of this. I need my mother. She smiled to herself, thinking that she had never thought to hear herself say such a thing, but this love was totally confusing. She slipped from the bed, and walking across the chamber brought forth from the warm coals of the hearth the pitcher of water that Lucy had left them. Pouring some into the silver ewer, she washed herself free of the residue of their shared passion. Then she disposed of the water, throwing it out the window.

  He stirred slowly, watching her as she opened her trunk and pulled on a clean chemise. Watched her as she sat down at the little table that held her female fripperies, and taking up her brush began to brush her long auburn hair, carefully working through the knots and tangles until her hair was a shining silken swath. “Good morrow, countess,” he finally said.

  Phil
ippa turned, smiling. “Good morning, my lord. There is water for bathing.” She gestured gracefully towards the other table.

  “Did you not bathe me well last night, little one?” he said low.

  She actually blushed. “My lord,” she remonstrated with him.

  He laughed. “The next time I shall drizzle honey on you, and lick it off.”

  “Crispin, you really are wicked,” she said, but she was smiling with the hot memories of honey, and strawberries and cream.

  The next few weeks were wonderful. They traveled his estate together on horseback. He made love to her in a pile of hay in a distant meadow, and almost had his bottom bee-stung for his trouble. Philippa had laughed so hard that she had wept. He explained the workings of his estates to her. They walked the three streets of Wittonsby, stopping at each cottage to greet their tenants and speak with them. The nights were filled with pleasure and passion. And then the world intruded upon them.

  A messenger arrived at Brierewode. He wore the badge of Cardinal Wolsey. The earl of Witton was ordered to attend upon the cardinal at Hampton Court. The king was now on his summer progress in Wiltshire and Berkshire. The queen had gone to her favorite, Woodstock. The king would come to Oxford in September to fetch the queen.

  “It is almost mid-August,” Philippa protested. “We must leave for the north if I am to be there for my sister’s wedding. Why does he want you? Are you not finished with that part of your life?”

  “I am,” Crispin said, “but I cannot refuse the cardinal. He speaks with the king’s voice, little one. I must go. We shall travel north as soon as I return.”

  “When will that be?” she demanded to know.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Why do you not prepare for our travels while I am away? Peter will pack for me.”

  “He is not coming with you?” she asked.

  “The cardinal has some scheme or business he wishes to discuss with me, Philippa. I do not need a valet with me. I will ride quickly with my men, and return as quickly. The cardinal knows I cannot serve him any longer. If the truth be known I am not certain how long he will remain in favor. He has been the king’s own man for many years now, little one,” the earl told his wife. “No one retains a king’s favor forever.”