Blaze Wyndham

by Bertrice Small

  “Would you have me kiss it, and make it all better?” he heard her gently tease. Sleep had definitely improved her disposition.

  “Would you?” he demanded of her. “Or perhaps I might interest you in other parts of my anatomy that would benefit from kissing.”

  Blaze laughed softly. “My lord!” she cried, pretending shock. Sleep had also restored her common sense. This was her husband, and love him or not, they owed a duty to the Langford earldom. She was fortunate in that he loved her. He would not be an unpleasant lover, for he would be seeking to please her.

  Anthony slipped back into the bed, and catching her boldly, began to fondle her plump breasts. “God,” he half-groaned against her mouth. “Here are the sweetest little fruits ever created, my angel!” And he kissed her deeply.

  Love him or no, she had to admit to enjoying the delicious sensation of his hands upon her flesh. She might have felt guilty, but that she remembered the king’s words comparing a woman’s body to a fine instrument. She believed that she would find Anthony as skilled a player upon that instrument as was Henry Tudor. He seemed to be in no hurry to have her, and she sighed and stretched with pleasure as he caressed her.

  Her soft flesh grew taut and firm beneath his stroking hands. His fingers encircled each now-firm breast, sliding leisurely over the swell of its top, moving around the side, cupping the fullness from beneath, smoothing back up sleek warmth once again. It was an exercise that he did not easily tire of, but finally he began to amuse himself with the nipples, catching at the tight little coral buds between his thumb and his forefinger, drawing them out as he gently pinched them. At last his dark head lowered itself, and his warm mouth closed over a nipple. Sensuously his tongue flickered around and about the sentient little tip, and Blaze murmured with soft little sighs of contentment that set his pulse racing.

  As he loved the soft ivory globes of her breasts, she found herself unable to keep from caressing him. Her supple fingers moved over his head, entwining themselves in his night-black hair, enjoying the silky feel of it. Her hands fondled the back of his neck, and swept over his smooth, muscled shoulders, digging her nails lightly into the hard flesh.

  The touch of her hands aroused him deeply, and he heard himself groan, “Sweet, sweet,” as he transferred himself to her other nipple, while beneath him his wife sighed, obviously satisfied with his attentions. He loved her without haste, amazed by his own self-discipline, for he had desired her for so very long. Still, he would have her remember always the way it was the first time between them. Relinquishing her nipple, he moved his head slowly downward over the silky flesh of her torso and belly. He could feel the delicate pulsing of the blood as it coursed through her veins beneath his cheek. He pressed little kisses upon the rounded, perfumed flesh.

  Deep within her, Blaze could feel the quivering, although she did not know if it was visible to him. Would he dare? Would he dare to love her in that way on this their first encounter? She thought that a man who could lie successfully to a powerful king would dare anything. His head moved lower, and he was kissing her thighs with the same little soft kisses that he had laid upon her belly. His lips coaxed her limbs apart; his fingers gently opened her as one might open a delicate shell; and Blaze found that she could hardly breathe for the excitement that coursed through her body. His tongue touched her, finding immediately with unerring accuracy that tiny little pearl of her womanhood, and Blaze found herself crying out with her pleasure as he loved her until she was so filled with that special and sensual joy that she wept as it receded, leaving her feeling bereft and alone.

  But she was not alone. His body covered hers for the first time, and she took the weight of him upon her thighs as he slowly and gently pressed into her, drawing forth another cry from her straining throat. He filled her with his throbbing weapon, burying it deep inside her sweet warmth. Blaze reached up and clasped his body to her, feeling her breasts being crushed against his smooth chest. He caught her face between his two hands, and kissed her until she was breathless and her lips felt bruised and tingling. She fiercely returned his kisses, giving no quarter, receiving none. Suddenly he began to move upon her, thrusting into her with passionate vigor, drawing back almost to complete withdrawal, thrusting back hard again.

  Blaze cried out once more. Cried with her pleasure, yet wept her despair to feel her crisis approaching, yet when it came she was ready for it. She soared like one of her hunting birds from the falconry. Soared straight and true into the burning blue of the heavens until she thought she could go no higher, only to discover that beyond the blue lay a new zone of fiery gold. Uncaring of anything, she hurled herself toward certain destruction, and she cared not, because it was too wonderful. The pleasure burst over her like honeyed wine, and at the same time she heard him cry aloud with satisfaction as his own passion exploded.

  They lay wet and chilled and gasping amid a tangle of bedclothes. They shuddered in unison with the receding wave, and then Anthony reached out and took her hand in his. Tenderly he kissed it. There were no words necessary between them now. Within minutes he was asleep, turning onto his side and sighing softly. Blaze smiled to herself, and then the smile faded. He had given her such pleasure, and he loved her. How could she not love him back?—yet she did not. It was sad, and in time he would certainly hate her for it. What kind of woman was she? She who had always believed herself so giving suddenly found that she was taking more, and it disturbed her.

  She drew the coverlet up and over them, appreciating as she did the taut curve of his buttocks. He really was a handsome man, and they would make beautiful babies together. Nay, she thought then. Babies come from love, and without it we have no chance of having children. Oh, Edmund! Help me! Must I stop loving you in order to love Tony? I cannot! I simply cannot! Yet I must. I must let you go, but I do not know how. She sighed deeply, and to her great surprise, he suddenly rolled back over and pulled her into his arms.

  “You think far too much for a woman,” he said quietly, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Go to sleep, Blaze. Go to sleep safe in the knowledge that I love you; and whether you believe it or not, I promise you that one day you will love me.”

  Would she? she wondered as she snuggled gratefully against him. Would she really? For a brief moment she felt a glimmer of hope.

  Chapter 13

  In mid-March the spring came quite abruptly and the roads, which a mere fortnight ago had been made impassable by the snows, were quite suddenly free of snow and awash with mud. Lord Morgan came from Ashby to escort Delight home. He was engaged in negotiations with an Irish lord who wanted an English wife of good stock for his heir. The Irish lord and his son would be coming from Ireland in May to meet Delight. There was to be no more nonsense tolerated in Delight’s case. She would be married this summer, if not to the Irish suitor, then to another suitor with whom she could be matched. Delight would be eighteen on the seventh of June, and she was too old now to be allowed her childish whims and crotchets.

  Delight pouted prettily at her father, and begged, “Please, Papa! Let me stay at RiversEdge until after Easter.” She did not protest the proposed marriage. Why anger her father whining about a proposed Irish marriage that would never be, especially when she wanted a favor from him?

  “Oh, please, m’lord Morgan,” Henriette echoed Delight’s plea. “Please let Delight stay until Easter. I shall be so very lonely without her!”

  Robert Morgan did not understand his sweet Delight’s friendship with this French girl. There was something about Henriette Wyndham that troubled him, although he could not quite put his finger on what it was. Still, Delight had not howled with outrage at the news of a proposed marriage. If her previous closeness to Blaze seemed gone, and her attitude toward her eldest sister cool, her friendship with the Wyndham cousin had obviously matured her, and her stay at RiversEdge this winter had not been for naught.

  “If it is all right with you, Blaze,” Lord Morgan said, “then I will let Delight stay a few more w
eeks.”

  “Ohh, please, Madame Blaze,” Henriette pleaded, “please!”

  “Of course Delight may stay,” said Blaze, who actually wished nothing more than to send her younger sister home as quickly as possible. “Mayhap when she goes you will let our Henriette visit.”

  “Indeed yes!” said Robert Morgan with false joviality. “After Delight’s match has been settled we shall be happy to have Mistress Henriette come for a visit.” But not before, he silently vowed to himself. I would not put it past that young vixen to steal the Irish lordling that I have found for my daughter!

  They had no sooner waved her father farewell than Delight was demanding from her friend, “What plan have you made, Henriette? I have but a few weeks left, and then I shall find myself wed with some strange and wild Irishman. My father will not let me get away this time, I know it! He means to marry me off for certain!” Her voice was high-pitched, and her eyes had a haunted look about them.

  “Come, chérie, come.” Henriette caught at Delight’s hand and hurried her into the stables. “You must not get yourself all excited, and fret. Let us find my Johnny, and he will soothe us both.”

  “I do not know if I should,” Delight considered.

  “You have said that every time since the first time you let him play with your titties. Why do you fret, chérie? Your virginity is as intact as the day you were born. Of course it does not have to be if you do not want it to, chérie. Johnny is like a good stud stallion. He can be put to several mares in an afternoon, and still gallop off in fine form.”

  “No,” said Delight. “I am not as confident as you in my ability to pretend a virginity that does not exist. I will keep my innocence until I wed Tony.”

  They had reached the isolated stall in the rear of the earl’s stables, to find the stableman already awaiting them. “Saw you coming,” he said by way of explanation, and grabbing at Delight, he shoved his hand into her bodice.

  For a brief moment she allowed him the liberty, and then she pushed him away, exclaiming, “You will tear my gown, you great oaf. You stink of onions, and besides, you are bruising me!” Turning to Henriette, she snapped, “When you have finished sporting yourself, I will be in the gardens. Have a plan for me or I shall tell my sister of your behavior with this rustic.” Then she stamped away.

  The stableman grinned after her. She was a spitfire, that one, even if she was half-mad. He would enjoy spitting her on his big cock, but he knew if he did, she would cry rape, and he could find himself at the end of the executioner’s rope. No woman was worth a man’s life.

  “What are you looking at, you great beast?” The French whore was glowering at him.

  “Nothing, lovey,” he said, and yanked her, giggling, down into the straw.

  Delight paced the gardens, where small primroses in their cheerful pinks and yellows brightened the landscape. The lawns were turning a soft green, and at its edge the River Wye flowed blue and free of ice. How much longer was she to bear it? How much longer could she watch Blaze and Anthony together? Of late Blaze was changing before her very eyes. Becoming softer, casting long, thoughtful glances at Tony.

  Her poor Tony. Forced into a marriage with a woman he did not love or want. Forced to accept the king’s leavings. But soon. Soon she would rid him of his royal castoff, of the woman who stood between them. Soon it would be Delight who sat beside Anthony at the high board in the hall. Soon it would be Delight who slept in the countess’s apartments, and bore the precious and long-awaited Langford heirs. She would give him the especial gift of her virginity, and from her chaste love for him would come the next generation of Wyndhams.

  “You must not look like such a thundercloud, Delight,” warned Henriette, rejoining her friend.

  “Have you a plan?” demanded Delight. She had better, or as God is my judge, I will tell Tony about her lewd behavior! Once I am married to him, she must go if she has not already been married off to some poor unsuspecting soul.

  “But, of course, chérie. I have had it in my mind for weeks, but now is the time to put it into effect,” responded Henriette. Delight was nearing the breaking point, she could easily see.

  “What is it?”

  “You are to make your sister a very special gift, Delight. A gift to thank her for her kindness to you these past months.”

  “What kind of a gift?” Delight said suspiciously. Was Henriette playing some sort of trick on her?

  “A nightrail of the finest and the sheerest silk. There are several bolts of just such fabric in the storage rooms. We will choose the color that is the most flattering to Madame Blaze, and I will even help you with it. My embroidery was much in demand amongst the queen’s ladies. When the gown is finished it shall be impregnated with a special poison that I know how to make. When your sister wears the garment, the poison will be absorbed by her skin. She will die. The death will appear to be a natural one, and voila! M’lord Anthony is yours!”

  The first thing that struck Delight about Henriette’s plan was that it was so simple. She was not shocked at the idea of killing her sister. In her half-mad mind her own need for Anthony far outweighed her basic morality. Then a thought came to her. “If we treat the gown with your poison, what is to prevent the poison from killing us when we give Blaze the gown?” she said.

  “I will make us a special hand lotion that, when dried upon our hands, will protect us from the poison in the handling of the nightrail. We must, however, wash our hands immediately afterward.”

  “Let us begin today,” said Delight. “It will take several weeks after I choose the fabric to design and cut it, sew it, and prepare it properly. We will have just barely enough time, Henriette.”

  “That is why I will help you, chérie, so that you may finish in time. You will present your gift to Madame Blaze the day that you leave. That way you will be gone long before she dies. I will see that she wears the gown that very night, or the next. You can trust me, chérie, in this as you have trusted me in other things.” Henriette smiled conspiratorially at Delight, but the girl’s mind was already far away imagining her wedding day to Anthony Wyndham.

  The days melted into weeks, and the spring deepened. Palm Sunday came, and then Easter. In the waning days of the Lenten season Delight and Henriette had worked diligently upon the gift for Blaze. Heads together in the family hall as they sewed, they had made a pretty picture, but they would show their work to no one.

  “It is to be a surprise!” said Henriette.

  “A surprise for my sister,” Delight told Lady Dorothy. “She has been so kind to me despite my behavior toward her. I do not know if I am quite ready to forgive her for stealing Anthony away from me, but I would have no more animosity between us now that my parents are to arrange a match for me that will take me from England. I may never see my family once I am married. I would not leave with hard feelings between Blaze and myself.”

  The words were those of a reasonable woman, but Delight’s eyes told a different story. Still, Lady Dorothy could not fault the girl, but she had an uncomfortable feeling each time she saw Delight and Henriette giggling together. Henriette Wyndham. The wench was a far slyer puss than Lady Dorothy had first seen. Blaze had been right. Marriage would be the only solution, and, Doro thought, to an older man who would not be so taken in by the girl that he would not beat her when she needed it, and Lady Dorothy suspected she needed it very much.

  Now with Easter past, the day for Delight’s departure came, and Lord Morgan arrived to collect his daughter. Everything was in readiness. Delight’s trunks were packed and loaded into the baggage cart. As for Delight, she had declined a carriage, preferring to ride by her father’s side. The good-byes were said all around, and, the sun barely up, father and daughter prepared to leave.

  “I have a gift for you,” Delight said to Blaze. “I know that we have been much estranged these past months, but my anger is cooling, and I would not wed in a foreign land while there is bitterness between us. I have worked these past weeks to make you a speci
al night garment. Henriette has helped me with the embroidery. She will bring my gift to you tonight. Wear it in happiness, and think of me when you do,” finished Delight, and then she hugged her sister, her smile bright, but the smile did not extend to her eyes.

  It had been decided by the two conspirators at the last minute that Henriette would bring Blaze the gown that night, as Delight was truly afraid of touching it now that it had been impregnated with the French girl’s poison. Henriette realized that to argue with Delight in this would only be to arouse her suspicions. Delight had worried about the possibility of Tony being poisoned, but Henriette assured her friend that she would slip a sleeping draft into Anthony’s wine cup that evening, and he would appear to be drunk. He would seem so drunk that he would be put into his own bed, and awaken in the morning to the sad news of his wife’s sudden passing.

  Blaze hugged her younger sister lovingly. “Dear heart,” she said, “I have never wanted you angry with me. I am sorry that you could not have your life as you would have wanted it. Give the young Irish lordling a chance, Delight. The Irish are a charming race, I am told.”

  Delight lastly hugged Henriette, and as the two girls parted, a look shot between them that made Lady Dorothy wonder what it was that they had been up to, and why it was worrying her so.

  Lord Morgan and Delight rode from RiversEdge through the two villages of Michaelschurch and Wyeton. The Langford ferry took them easily and swiftly across the river, and they moved off at a leisurely pace until the river disappeared behind a hill. The road to Ashby stretched before them, winding through the sprouting fields of barley and hops; past the orchards now so heavily abloom with pink-and-white apple blossoms that the portent of a bumper crop was already in evidence; past meadows filled with frisky young lambs who scampered wildly about, bumping heads and madly chasing one another; past ponds ruled over by regal white swans who swam proudly in formation with their newly hatched young. The day was incredibly fair, the sky a bright and cloudless blue.