Song of Isabel

by Ida Curtis

Isabel worked hard to contain her giggle at what she had heard from the other side of the vine. Upon considering Matty’s plight, it occurred to her that Chetwynd might be afraid of hurting her. Last night he had said he wished to wait until Justin approved the match before making her his wife. But she knew the reason he had hesitated earlier was because she was a virgin. She shook her head to drive out the thoughts that seemed to occupy far too much of her time.

  Feeling the need for a rest, Isabel moved to sit on the grass beside a nursing mother. The peaceful sight reminded her of Emma, and she smiled at the young woman. When the mother prepared to return to cutting grapes, Isabel, whose hands were still aching, offered to watch the babe for a while. Her offer was quickly accepted, and the child was soon asleep in her arms.

  When Chetwynd came by to see how Isabel was faring, he spotted her cradling the baby. Dressed in a brown gown with a large apron covering most of it, she looked like one of the peasant women. Her head covering had slipped, and her dark curls sprung free at the sides of her face. She sat with her legs crossed in front of her, staring at the bundle in her lap.

  The baby had grabbed onto a lock of her hair, which Isabel had not bothered to pull free. Chetwynd remembered what it felt like to run his hands through her luxurious hair, and he envied the baby’s hold on her. He was about to turn away without disturbing the charming tableau when Isabel noticed his presence. When she smiled up at him, he moved closer to kneel beside her.

  “I was just checking to see how you were doing.” He whispered so as not to wake the babe.

  “My hands are tired, so I decided to take a rest. I haven’t the skill of the other women.”

  They were at the end of a row of vines, on a grassy knoll. Most of the women had moved on, so it was quiet and peaceful. Chetwynd leaned back on his elbows to rest beside Isabel, but didn’t say anything further. He enjoyed being in her company without the need for words.

  Last night, after forcing himself to leave Isabel’s bedchamber, Chetwynd had not slept well for thinking about her. Now it was hard for him to keep his eyes open. When he gave in to the need to lie back and rest for a minute, he soon fell asleep. Isabel sat watching over the two sleeping forms until the mother returned for her baby.

  After the mother took the child away, there was no one nearby and it was time for Isabel to head back to the kitchen to help Gertrude. Chetwynd lay on his side with one arm supporting his head. The relaxed look on his face was one she had not seen often enough for it to be familiar. Isabel wondered if she should wake him. Because he looked so peaceful, she decided against it. Fighting the temptation to lean over and kiss his perfectly shaped ear, she got up quietly so as not to disturb him.

  In the kitchen, a vast amount of food was being prepared for the evening feast. Isabel worked with Gertrude and Irma late into the day. When they heard whooping shouts from the valley, Gertrude explained that the workers were already pressing the grapes.

  “The shouts are meant to encourage those doing the stomping. The very loud bursts signal that someone has slipped into the grapes. You’ll see what I mean when you try it.”

  The idea of stomping the juicy cones did not appeal to Isabel. “I’m not going to stomp on those grapes that were so perfect, Gertrude.”

  Instead of answering, Gertrude and Irma exchanged knowing looks. Isabel narrowed her own eyes, but before she could question them, Chetwynd appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  “You should have awakened me, Isabel,” he complained. “It was very embarrassing to wake up surrounded by a group of giggling women. You left me in a vulnerable position. It seems that during the harvest they have little respect for the lord of the manor.”

  Just imagining the bawdy remarks the women might have made when they found him stretched out at their feet, Isabel started to giggle. Irma and Gertrude, who no doubt had vivid imaginations of their own, joined her.

  Chetwynd threw up his hands, pretending disgust, and turned to leave. Then, as though remembering his errand, he turned back to the giggling trio. “I came to tell you we need your help crushing the grapes. Come along, Isabel. I hear you are an accomplished cutter. Let’s see how you do stomping in the vat.”

  Isabel thought she detected a hint of mischief in his invitation. “I’ll watch the stomping,” she replied. “They are lovely grapes, and I don’t wish to stomp them.”

  Chetwynd shrugged his shoulders and grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him. The two other women were giggling again.

  When they arrived at the spot where the pickers were now busy pressing grapes, Isabel was fascinated to see several large vats with women jumping up and down inside them. They were stomping with their skirts tucked up around their waists. The men poured in the grapes, and a few supported the women, holding onto an arm or wrist to keep them from slipping. An explosive shout startled Isabel. She saw that a tall woman had lost her footing and sunk into a mess of crushed grapes.

  Chetwynd motioned that Isabel should try it, but she held back, shaking her head. Two of the women she worked with earlier were preparing to enter the vat and noticed Isabel’s refusal.

  “Come along, my lady. The grapes feel good between your toes,” one of them teased.

  Isabel made a face and held her ground. When the women continued their urging, Chetwynd whispered in her ear, “You don’t want to disappoint. It’s a tradition for the lady of the manor to take a turn.”

  Isabel wasn’t sure she believed that, but she finally removed her shoes and hose, and lifted her skirt. When she stepped into the slippery mess, Chetwynd was quick to steady her with his hands at her waist.

  In spite of the fact that the women beside her were stomping with great vigor, Isabel stepped daintily up and down. However, inspired by the others, she gradually increased her own energy level. The curious sensation of wet, slippery grapes underfoot made her laugh.

  “You missed a clump to your right,” Chetwynd pointed out. “Now try over here.” At his urging, she moved around the vat.

  When Isabel accidentally splashed Chetwynd, he muttered, “Be careful. You’re getting my clothes stained.”

  Stomping even harder, she bit her lip to keep from laughing when his sleeve became covered with a dark red stain. Chetwynd caught on to her purpose and let her slip to her knees into the pulp. A great roar went up when she managed to pull him off-balance so he tilted and had to put his hands into the pulp to steady himself.

  Chetwynd scrambled to regain his balance. After that, Isabel saw the glimmer in his eyes and tried to avoid him. Before she could climb out of the vat, he swept her up in his arms and carried her away to accompanying cheers and whistles from the crowd.

  As Chetwynd ran toward the woods, Isabel suspected she knew where he was headed. She clung to his neck, hiding her face in his shirt when the trees speeding by made her dizzy. She prayed he would not lose his footing and drop her to the ground. When he stopped, she let go of her grip on him and felt herself being tossed into the air. She knew enough to hold her breath.

  The deep water of the pond felt icy cold against her overheated skin, and she gasped for air when she came to the surface. Chetwynd jumped in behind her and started to paddle about furiously to banish the cold. It took a few minutes for their bodies to adjust to the water temperature.

  “What a trick,” she complained, splashing water into his face.

  “You said you wanted to see the swimming pond. Besides, I needed to wash the grape stains from my clothes. The grape stains you caused to be there.”

  “Here, let me help you wash.” Isabel splashed him more vigorously, sparking a water fight.

  Soon exhausted from the effort, they called a truce and began to paddle about slowly. Isabel finally had a chance to look around. The water was deep and clear, and the surrounding trees stood close together, providing privacy. “So this is the pond.”

  Chetwynd nodded. “I found it this morning. What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect,” she declared, moving close and throwing her ar
ms around his neck. “Everything about Aquis is perfect.”

  “Including me?”

  “Especially you.”

  Chetwynd threw his head back and laughed at her words. Not used to seeing him so relaxed and happy, Isabel was delighted by the sound.

  “The minute I saw this pond, I knew you’d like it, Isabel. I couldn’t wait to show it to you. Will you do something for me?”

  His incredible blue eyes, darkened with desire, searched her face with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. When he looked at her like that, she suspected she’d agree to anything. “Yes, of course,” she answered softly.

  “I’m going to sit over there,” he said, pointing to the edge of the pond. “Will you swim around on your back the way you did the first time I saw you?”

  Isabel bit her lip and nodded agreement.

  “But before you do, let’s take off some of your clothing.” Standing in the water, he helped her remove her apron and gown, then tossed the sopping clothes onto the grass.

  With only a shift covering her, Isabel swam away from him. Feeling a little self-conscious, she turned onto her back and slowly moved through the water. She knew he had left the pond as she could see his blond hair out of the corner of her eye. Staring up at the sky, she moved her arms to propel herself slowly through the water.

  Although uneasy at first, the water relaxed her, and the idea that her movements had stayed in Chetwynd’s memory inspired her to be daring. Looking around first to be sure they were alone, she swung her hips in an erotic rhythm as she had done that afternoon so long ago. She twisted slowly through the water and moved her hands along her sides from her hips to her breasts. As she imagined Chetwynd’s hands touching her, she moved them over her breasts and stomach, all the places she dreamed of him caressing her.

  Carried away by her enactment, Isabel was startled when there was a splashing sound in the calm water. Chetwynd grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the shore. Isabel swallowed some water and struggled to find her footing. “What are you doing?” she managed to ask.

  “What I should have done long ago,” he muttered as he continued to pull her after him. They were out of the water and rushing toward the trees.

  She could see that the path they were following led to the manor house but avoided returning to the vineyard. “My gown,” she panted, as she pointed back toward the pond with her free hand.

  “You won’t need it. You’ll be in your bedchamber in a minute.”

  Isabel didn’t allow herself to believe his intention until he shut the door firmly behind them. When he turned toward her, the intense expression on his face left no doubt of his purpose. Within seconds he had slid her wet shift over her shoulders so that it landed in a puddle around her feet. Isabel turned away, embarrassed to be naked before him.

  But Chetwynd was quick to move behind her and place his hands on her shoulders. “You’re magnificent, Isabel. Please let me look at you.”

  Although shy, she allowed him to turn her around. He stood back and stripped off his own clothes without taking his eyes from her.

  Pressing her lips together, Isabel watched. She had seen a nude male body before, even one in an aroused condition, but Derek belonged to Emily and had only stirred her curiosity. Seeing Chetwynd caused her knees to go weak, and her head felt like it might float away. When Chetwynd moved toward her again and cupped her breasts in his hands, she was afraid she might slide to the floor.

  “Your body’s still wet,” he whispered. “Do you want a flannel?”

  Chetwynd had meant to give her a minute to dry off, but when she shook her head no, he backed her to the bed, rubbing his own body against hers. In spite of his impatience, he lowered her slowly onto the bed. When she opened her legs, he moved between them, fitting himself against her. He was very aware that she was still a maid, and he didn’t want to frighten her.

  “Wait,” Isabel whispered, and the word made him groan. He didn’t release her, but he pulled back to peer into her face. He had expected to see fear there, but her expression was more apologetic than fearful.

  “What’s the matter, my love? Are you afraid? I’ll try not to hurt you.”

  “No, no, it’s not that. But we shouldn’t do this. You wanted to wait for Justin’s approval. I have seduced you from your purpose.”

  Chetwynd stared at her, trying to understand her reasoning. “You seduced me?”

  “Yes, my lord. My grandmother, and later Marianna, suggested I seduce you into making me your wife. I promised myself I wouldn’t trap you, but now I’m doing just that.”

  Wanting to be sure she wasn’t making an excuse to cover her anxiety, he asked, “You have no fear of my taking your virginity?”

  “Oh no, my lord. I know it’s supposed to hurt, but I’ll be very glad to lose it with you. I do want to be your wife in every way.”

  He did his best to control his urge to grin. “Your only worry is that you are seducing me?”

  Isabel bit her lip and nodded.

  “Will you feel better if I seduce you, Isabel?” As he asked this last question, he moved his hand between her legs to find her already wet and hot to his touch.

  After a gasp, she answered, “I think that would be . . . acceptable.”

  With this clear signal, Chetwynd caressed Isabel until she arched her body toward his, signaling her desire for more intimate contact. In spite of his need to plunge deeply inside her, he entered her gently until he felt resistance, then pushed quickly beyond the barrier. Once nestled within her, he thrust to his own release, calling her name as he came.

  Ashamed that he had satisfied his own need without giving her pleasure, Chetwynd eased away from Isabel. She hadn’t cried out, but when he looked at her face he saw blood where she had bitten her lip. He kissed her gently, tasting her blood. “I’m going to fetch you a damp cloth, Isabel. That will make you feel more comfortable.”

  Isabel was wondering if she should mention Emma’s suggestion, and he noticed her hesitation. “What is it, Isabel?”

  “Emma gave me some ointment before I left Narbonne. It’s by the basin in a soft leather pouch.”

  When Chetwynd returned to the bed, he didn’t pass the cloth to her and Isabel realized he intended to bathe her himself. He performed the intimate act of cleansing her in a loving manner that left no room for embarrassment. Then he gently applied the ointment to her swollen folds in a rhythm that soon had her breathless.

  “Emma is a very clever woman, Isabel,” he whispered into her ear as he continued to stroke her intimately.

  It was hard for Isabel to speak as she was rapidly moving close to losing all control.

  Chetwynd grinned as she tightened around his fingers and found her own release. “Tomorrow we’ll try that with me inside you. Now turn on your side and let me hold you while you sleep.”

  Isabel moved as he suggested. Nestled with her back against him, she thought about how he had called out her name when he was moving inside her. Then with a shudder he had relaxed, hugging her tight at the same time. Although he had given her pleasure while applying the ointment, she looked forward to sharing that powerful sensation with him.

  The sky was just beginning to lighten when Isabel awoke, and it was heaven to feel Chetwynd’s hands cupping her breasts. When she moved slightly to see if he was awake, he kissed her ear. “Thank you for letting me awake in your arms, my lord.”

  He turned her around to kiss her gently where she had bitten her lip. “My pleasure. Is your lip sore?” he asked against her mouth.

  “No.” She wiggled herself into a position on top of him. “I don’t seem to be sore at all this morning.”

  “Isabel, are you trying to seduce me?”

  “It’s all right for me to do that now, as you have already seduced me,” she pointed out reasonably. Then to emphasize her intention, she moved her hand down to his hard stomach and the nest of hair above his sex.

  Now that his anxiety about hurting her had disappeared, Chetwynd relaxed and al
lowed himself to enjoy her exploration of his body. Her curiosity excited him, but he forced himself to remain still until her hand closed around his arousal. Afraid her soft caresses would make him lose control, he rolled on top of her and found her ready for him. He entered her gently, moving slowly in and out of her warmth.

  Isabel found his slow pace heavenly and groaned her pleasure. But soon it wasn’t enough. Wanting more, she used her hands on his hips to urge him deeper and faster. When she finally tightened around him, they exploded together, and Isabel shouted her amazement at the intense waves that carried her to fulfillment.

  Later when she regained the ability to speak, Isabel whispered in Chetwynd’s ear, “Do you think anyone heard us shouting?”

  Chetwynd started to laugh, and the feel of his shaking body against hers made Isabel laugh as well. “I think everyone is probably sound asleep. But even if not, it doesn’t matter. I doubt anyone would be surprised by my enthusiastic ardor for my wife.”

  “Your wife. That does sound very nice.”

  They lay together for a while, enjoying the novelty, until Chetwynd’s stomach growled. “Do you want to find something to eat?” he asked. “We missed our evening meal.”

  They had the kitchen to themselves, and they found plenty of food left over from the previous evening.

  “I guess they were too tired to clean up last night,” Chetwynd said as he cleared a spot at the table for them to sit. There was lots of bread and leftover chicken, and Isabel poured them each a tankard of ale. “No one will be stirring until noon, I’m sure.”

  “I do like this kitchen, Chetwynd.” Isabel watched him tearing into a crust of stale bread, his white teeth gleaming.

  “What are you smiling about, my love?”

  “Gertrude was so proud of the fact that you like her bread.” She became thoughtful. “You have a nice way with people, showing them you appreciate them. I noticed it first in the way you treated Jerome and Ingram.”

  “I think Jerome has shifted his loyalty from me to you, Isabel.”

  “Do you mind, Chetwynd?”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem now that we are truly man and wife. We will be as one in his eyes. I’m just glad he isn’t older. He might have challenged me to a battle over you.”