by Alexa Aston
A second finger joined the first, pushing in and out in a rhythm that her body joined in.
“You’re juices flow for me, Elia,” Ferand said huskily.
His thumb began stroking a place that cried out for his touch. Her breath quickened as he circled it, causing a fluttering inside, the likes of which she’d never known. As he rubbed it, a pressure began building inside her and her hips continued to move.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Meet me. Go with me. Feel it.”
Oh, she felt it. A tidal wave of epic proportion rose and then crashed, bringing wave after dizzying wave of pleasure. Elia’s fingers dug into the bedclothes as she rode the wave as it crested and fell, rising over and over, flooding through her. A cry escaped her lips and suddenly Ferand was there, his fingers still working their magic as he kissed her senseless.
The pleasure finally ebbed, leaving Elia exhausted. Ferand’s lips left hers and she was so exhausted, she couldn’t protest.
“Now for my taste,” he said.
His words confused her—but not for long.
He slid down her body and, this time, Elia felt his mouth on her. She pushed up on her elbows.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her heart pounding.
“Making us both very happy, I hope,” he replied.
Ferand grasped her ankles with his strong fingers and pushed her feet along the bed till they rested next to her hips. Then his lips returned to where his fingers had played so artfully, his tongue repeating the same actions. The wonderful sensations built inside Elia again as she whimpered softly.
The explosion of feeling was more intense than before. Her body shuddered with indescribable pleasure. She enjoyed feeling weak and powerful at the same time.
Finally, she stilled. Ferand released her ankles and she slid her heels down till her legs straightened. He lowered her kirtle and lay next to her, rolling her so that her back was against his chest. One arm encircled her possessively.
“You are still a virgin,” he whispered into her ear. “Just a very knowledgeable one.” He paused. “I hope you feel empowered. You are a de Wolfe, Elia. Never forget it.”
“I’m a de Wolfe,” she echoed. “I can do anything.”
Chapter Eleven
Elia hadn’t recalled much of the route she and Ferand had traveled over the last ten days since she’d been so young when her father and his knights took her to London. As they approached the city walls of York, though, memories flooded her. It had been the first large city she’d ever seen and made a lasting impression on her.
Then she noticed a large structure just outside York. She didn’t remember it from before and wondered why it sat unprotected, apart from the city itself.
“What is that?”
“Saint Nicholas’ Hospital,” Ferand said grimly. “It serves as a leper house.”
She shivered despite the warm day. Leprosy was highly contagious and feared by all, though those who were exposed to it usually lived for years. One of their neighbors, Lady Catherine Wrynne, contracted the disease and had been taken away, never to return. She wondered if Lady Catherine had been brought to York and if she still lived inside Saint Nicholas. Elia couldn’t imagine the loneliness the noblewoman had faced, separated from those she loved and all she knew.
Ferand brought Midnight to a halt and let her take in the grandeur of the tall walls that encompassed York.
“York has four main gatehouses,” he revealed. “They restrict traffic in and out of the city. We’ll have to pay a toll to enter and another when we exit.”
“Is one called Micklegate?” she asked.
“You have an excellent memory. Aye, Micklegate Bar is at the southern entrance to the city and is the one royalty uses to enter York when it visits. The mayor, council, and citizens of the city line up to greet the king as he comes through Micklegate.”
Ferand spurred Midnight on.
They drew closer and Elia said, “The archway looks Norman to me.”
“It was influenced by the Normans but I see the bar has been enlarged since I last passed through. That portcullis and barbican are both new.”
He pulled on Midnight’s reins and they joined the line to pay the expected toll before crossing through the gate and into the city. Passing through the streets, Elia wrinkled her nose.
“This place smells worse than London. Though I remember the architecture being impressive, I’d forgotten how rank the odors were.”
Ferand laughed. “The privies are built upon the city moat and Ouse Bridge. Not the best of ways to greet visitors, I’ll agree. The smell will increase once we reach The Shambles.”
“What’s that?”
“’Tis sometimes called The Great Flesh Shambles. It’s a long street with many butcher shops. They toss out the offal and guts into ditches or the runnel, which runs down the middle of the street. The rainwater is supposed to help wash the blood and guts away but it often sits for days or weeks when the weather is dry.”
“Are we merely passing through York?”
“Nay. Midnight’s due for a lengthy rest. We will stay the rest of today and all of tomorrow, then leave after that—if you are agreeable.”
“Aye.” Elia had been anxious to return home but now found herself wanting to drag her heels. She yearned for Ferand’s intimate caresses and hoped to tempt him into giving her more before they made Castle Questing.
“Let’s find an inn. We’ll have many to choose from, some as large as those in London.”
She would rather be back in their cramped chamber from two nights ago. Elia feared if they found themselves with too much space, Ferand would keep a gentlemanly distance.
They rode about until he spotted a place that pleased him and inquired where he could house Midnight. A boy directed him to a stable around the corner. He paid for two days and they told the horse goodbye, removing their satchels and returning to the inn. After bargaining with the owner, Ferand gave him a few coins and had a lad take their things upstairs.
“I thought we’d walk through the streets and find something to eat.” He tucked her hand through his bent arm. “Hold fast, Elia. The crowds can press against you. You might find yourself being swept away.”
She tightened her fingers, feeling the hard muscles. “I won’t let that happen.”
They followed their noses and reached a busy street full of stalls selling food. She inhaled deeply and felt hungry for the first time since the attack. Her mouth watered as they passed a pig roasting on a spit. Another stall had smoked fish and a third some kind of savory meat with a barley and vegetable filling.
“Ribs of beef and many a pie,” a boy chanted loudly, trying to usher customers to his stall as he repeated the phrase over and over.
He reminded Elia of Kenneth when he was that age, still happy and eager and ready to go to war. A wave of sadness filled her at the thought of how vibrant her brother had been and how war had cut his life short.
“Could we try one of his pies?” she asked, gesturing toward the boy.
“A good choice,” Ferand agreed.
He purchased a pie for each of them and they ate while they strolled through the crowded streets. Elia saw booths with brass cooking vessels, woolen cloth, coal, and nails for sale. People haggled in loud voices with the stall vendors, trying to compromise on a price for the goods they wished to purchase.
“Are you still hungry?” he asked once she swallowed her last bite.
She nodded.
He smiled. “That’s a good sign.”
“Could we try fish pie this time?”
Ferand found a booth with cod pie, arguing good-naturedly till he reached a price and gave a coin to the vendor. Elia savored every bite since cod was a particular favorite of hers.
“Where would you like to go?”
“We can simply wander about,” she told him. “But slowly,” placing a hand atop her full belly. “I am ready to burst.”
He laughed. “And here I was going to buy you a sweet next. I
guess that will save me a coin.”
“Mayhap later,” she replied.
They strolled through the city. Though Elia lived in London part of the year, she rarely left the Palace of Westminster and wasn’t familiar with that city. Other times, she followed the queen to various palaces and estates located in the country. She found it enjoyable to be swept up in the mass of people, seeing all the different styles of architecture.
Strong smells assaulted her nose again. She looked ahead and realized they had arrived at The Shambles, the open-air slaughterhouse and meat market Ferand had told her about. As they walked along it, she heard the bleats of frightened animals and saw butchers killing and dressing animals, stacking the meat to be sold on rows of shelves.
“Let’s go this way,” Ferand suggested, steering her away from the street of sad noises and awful scents.
They walked a long time, winding through narrow alleyways, until they came across a beautiful church tucked away at the end of the lane.
“Could we go inside?”
“If you wish.”
Ferand led her to the door of the stone edifice. A small sign revealed they entered Holy Trinity at Goodramgate. Immediately, Elia blinked, trying to adjust her vision. The brightness of the day contrasted sharply with the darkness inside the church. Ferand closed the door behind them and she relished the silence after the noise on York’s streets.
She slowly walked the length of the large church, amazed at its height and broadness. Pausing near the altar, she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind. Sending a prayer to the Virgin Mary, Elia asked for the remainder of their journey to Castle Questing to be safe and then added her plea for guidance. She sensed herself at a crossroads. Her grandfather had always emphasized that family came first, no matter what. She had pined for her home and people for years—yet she longed to be with Ferand. Since he lived as far in the south of England as she did in the north, she couldn’t see a compromise between them. He was not a man to put his lands in another’s hands while he lived weeks away in a place foreign to him. She doubted she could ever be happy so far away from everything and everyone she held near and dear.
Could she give up what she most wanted, being close to her family? Would her father even approve of Ferand as a husband for her? Most northerners, including de Wolfes, did not trust their counterparts in the south, calling them weak and lazy, blaming them for political troubles within the kingdom. That was what had surprised her most, her father asking the queen to find a husband for Elia, one who was not of the north. She understood the frequent skirmishes with Scotland. The Scots crossing the border had him concerned for her safety but she didn’t feel that was reason enough to banish her from the place she embedded in her soul.
Elia would see how things unfolded once she spoke with her father and Stephen, face-to-face. In the meantime, she would appreciate these final, precious days with Ferand.
She joined him again and they left without a word. He led her back along the maze of streets, passing another huge market of vendors selling cloth, tanned hides, iron, and steel.
“Look for someone selling sweets,” Ferand said. “I told you I would buy you one.”
It took time until they found a stall and when they did, Elia gazed at the variety available.
“I’m having a hard time making up my mind,” she joked, her eyes wanting several treats.
“Elia? Elia de Wolfe? Is that you?” a voice called.
She turned and saw a short, muscular man two stalls away, heading toward them. He looked familiar but she could not place him. Then as he came to stand before her, she saw the dimple in his chin.
“James Wrynne! How nice to see you,” she exclaimed.
“I knew it had to be you, though it’s been years since we saw one another. You de Wolfes all have the same look about you.” He paused. “I did not know you had returned from the royal court.” He took her hand and kissed it, then continued to hold on to it.
“I haven’t. What I mean is that I am on my way home from London.”
Suddenly, she felt strong pressure from Ferand’s fingers on her elbow and he smoothly added, “We are on our way.”
James glanced down and spied the slender band on her finger and released her hand. “Oh. I see you have married. It must be recently for I saw Stephen not a week ago. I’m sure he would have mentioned it otherwise.”
Elia hated to lie to her old friend and avoided his inquiry. Turning to Ferand, she said, “This is one of our neighbors, Sir James Wrynne.” Glancing back at James, she added, “James, this is Lord Ferand de Montfort, Earl of Kinwick.”
The men nodded curtly, both eying the other speculatively.
To break the lingering silence, she asked, “So have you wed, James? I always thought you were sweet on Audrey Wilde and mayhap the two of you would one day marry.”
He looked at her with disgust. “Do you jest with me, Elia?”
His harsh tone took her aback. “Nay. I only asked—”
“Lady Audrey married your brother two years ago.”
Elia felt the blood drain from her face. “Stephen? My brother . . . married . . . Audrey Wilde? Two years ago?”
“Aye.” The anger left James’ face and he looked at her with pity. “You did not know?”
“Nay,” she said faintly.
“Why don’t we sup tonight?” James suggested. “I can catch you up on all the news of the neighborhood before you arrive. That way, you won’t be in for any more surprises.”
Elia grew numb as she listened to James explain to Ferand where he stayed and that they could dine there. He bid them good day and set off.
“Elia?”
She blinked and looked at Ferand. “I want to return to where we are staying,” she said abruptly.
“Of course.” He placed her hand on his arm and led them away from the market.
As they made their way back to the inn, Elia wondered what else her family had kept from her.
Chapter Twelve
Ferand wanted to strangle Elia’s father. Or her brother. Better yet, both. How could they keep such important news from her for so long? He understood having her remain in London and missing Stephen’s wedding. After all, Elia had been in service to the queen. That commitment came first. To send a guard all the way to London to escort Elia to the wedding and then return her would have taken weeks. Even then, the queen might not have granted Elia permission to attend.
But for the de Wolfes to cruelly keep the marriage a secret from her?
Unthinkable.
He turned from the window and saw she still lay motionless on the bed, her eyes dry as she stared at the ceiling. They hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the market. Ferand wondered if meeting James Wrynne again was a good idea. He hadn’t liked the way the man’s eyes roamed over Elia, not to mention that the knight had held her hand far too long. At least she had continued their ruse and Wrynne thought them wed. Hopefully, that would put a damper on the attention he bestowed upon her tonight.
“Would you like to change before we leave?” he asked, moving from the window toward her. “I could ask for hot water to be brought up.”
She sat up and swung her feet onto the floor. “I can bathe my hands and face in the water already here,” she said dully.
Ferand cursed silently. Elia had already lost her sparkle once on this journey and had luckily gained it back. He despised that the light had, once again, gone out of her.
Grabbing her hands, he pulled her to her feet. “I would do anything to ease your distress.”
“I know,” she said softly. “You have been very good to me, Ferand.”
He bent and gave her a gentle kiss. Not one of passion but, hopefully, one that might comfort her.
“Thank you.” She broke away and went to the basin of water.
Not knowing what else to do, he pulled a comb from his satchel and ran it through his hair, wanting to look his best. For some reason, he needed Elia to take pride in him as they shared a meal with thi
s friend from her childhood.
Once ready, he escorted her downstairs. The directions Wrynne provided proved easy to follow and they arrived at the knight’s lodgings several minutes later. Opening the door, he saw a crowded room to his right where food was being served. To his left, a woman stood behind a long counter, a quill in hand. She set the quill down and came to greet them.
“Might you be Lord Ferand and Lady Elia?” she inquired. “Sir James told me to expect you.”
“We are.”
“Sir James arranged for a private dining room upstairs. If you’ll follow me.”
She led them through the large public room and up a side staircase. They passed several doors until she paused.
“Sir James is waiting for you in here with wine and cheese. He said you have much to discuss. I’ll bring something more substantial later this evening.” She opened the door and waved them in.
Ferand thanked her and escorted Elia inside where Wrynne waited. He leaped to his feet and took Elia’s hand again, brushing his lips against her knuckles. Jealousy flared within Ferand.
“Come, have a seat. I’ve already started in on the wine. I found myself parched after hours of doing business today.”
Wrynne indicated a table that accommodated four and seated Elia. Ferand quickly slipped into the seat beside her, forcing Wrynne to sit across from her. The nobleman poured wine for them both. Ferand took a long pull, hoping this second meeting would go better than the first and that no more surprises would occur to upset Elia.
They began talking of people they knew and James informed Elia of the various births, marriages, and deaths in their community, as well as how the local village had grown during her long absence. None of it interested Ferand.
He finished his wine and poured another cup, downing it quickly. As he listened to their conversation, his eyes grew heavy. His head began to swim.
“Ferand?”
He glanced at Elia and saw the concern on her face. She called his name again but it seemed as if he’d fallen into a dark hole and she peered over the top, looking down at him. Her name formed on his lips but no sound came out.
