Letter Of Love

by Virginia Henley

  Chapter Six

  Within the week, Burgundy received a visit from her grandmother. Sarah Lynton had her own shade of hair, gray now at the temples. Her care-worn face had once been as beautiful as Burgundy's.

  "My dear, I have waited twenty years for this day."

  "I never received your letters, and Nan swears my mother received none either, though she watched for them so hopefully."

  Lady Lynton took Nan's hand eagerly. "How can I ever thank you for staying with Jane through all her suffering and taking the responsibility of her child upon your shoulders?"

  "It was a labor of love, my lady. I only wish Jane could have known that you forgave her before..." Nan began to cry.

  "Oh, my dear." Lady Lynton said, gathering Nan in her arms, "no tears, I beg you. This is a time for rejoicing. To be united with our granddaughter brings us such joy. And another wonderful thing has just happened. Her Majesty has renewed our export licenses."

  Mr. Burke served them refreshments so that Burgundy and Sarah Lynton could become better acquainted.

  "Tell me, my dear. I gave Jane an ancient, treasured book when she was very young. Was the book ever passed on to you?"

  "Yes, it was my mother's last wish that Nan keep it safe for me." Burgundy hesitated, then confessed, "'Tis because of the book that I agreed to marry the Earl of Devon."

  "Your mother refused Nicholas's father, but now you have set everything right."

  "Well, perhaps not everything, but I am happy that we are now close to each other, Grandmother."

  Before Sarah departed, she extended the hospitality of Lynton Hall, and Burgundy promised to come to meet her grandfather and her one remaining uncle.

  The following week she was surprised by a visit from her father. She expected him to be angry with her for marrying the Earl of Devon. Not so much because Anthony Russell was a friend of his, but because her mother had been contracted to wed a Mountjoy. John Bedford, however, seemed resigned to it.

  "Somehow it seems inevitable. Jane missed out on being a countess, but her clever daughter did not."

  Burgundy was stung. Though father and daughter had never been overly affectionate, they had always been able to speak their minds to each other.

  "You think me clever, Father? Apparently not clever enough to guess you destroyed my grandmother's letters."

  "Sarah Lynton more than disapproved of me; she loathed me. There was much bitterness over the marriage. When you were born and your mother died, I didn't want it all dragged up again, and by that time the Lyntons had other troubles to occupy them."

  "Sarah has been to see me. We are going to try to close the chasm."

  John Bedford nodded. "I suppose that is as it should be. I only came to see if you were happy with your choice of husband."

  Burgundy laughed shortly. "We do not deal well together. I'm afraid. Mountjoy probably regrets the union by now. My parting words were rather venomous. I wished he'd never return from Ireland."

  "You very well may get your wish."

  "What do you mean?" she asked bluntly.

  It was privileged information, but after a slight hesitation, he told her, "Five thousand Spaniards are on their way to Kinsale, to aid Tyrone in his rebellion."

  Dear God, it couldn't be true. Yet who would know better than one of Walsingham's spies?

  When her father departed, she went straight to Mr. Burke. "You must somehow get a message to Nicholas. Can it be done quickly?"

  "I'll have a ship and a captain within the hour. Will you write the letter, my lady?"

  "Yes," she said quickly, before she could change her mind.

  My Lord Mountjoy:

  I have word on the best authority that Spain has sent 5,000 men to aid Tyrone. As your wife, I am honor-bound to inform you immediately. I regret my parting words to you. They were most undutiful and now taste like ashes in my mouth. B.

  As the weeks went by, she heard nothing from Ireland. To pass the hours of the short winter days with their long evenings, Burgundy decided to teach Nan Greenwood to read.

  At first Nan protested. "Oh, my lamb, I have all the knowledge I'll ever need. I'm too old to learn."

  "Age has absolutely nothing to do with it, and you don't need to read for knowledge. There is no sin in reading for pure pleasure! Don't refuse, Nan. It is a gift of love. How else can I repay you?"

  Nan agreed because Burgundy wished it. The lessons were so successful that Burgundy called the housemaids together and offered to teach reading to anyone interested.

  The housekeeper protested, "I don't think it a good idea, my lady. It will put notions into their heads. What if their new learning prompts them to look for higher stations in life?"

  "I should be delighted!" Lady Mountjoy asserted, to the secret amusement of Mr. Burke.

  Gradually, Burgundy came to realize that the message of the ancient book had been right. She had acted with honor and she was most content with her life. Her grandparents' shipping business now thrived, and they gave her love and also a sense of her heritage, something she had never known she lacked.

  One of their ships returning from Ireland brought the news that Kinsale had fallen, the Spaniards had been sent packing, and Tyrone put to flight back to Ulster.

  Burgundy realized her husband would soon return to England, and she dreaded the reunion.

  Spring arrived, bringing with it Nicholas Mountjoy. He was taken off the ship on a litter, but, refusing to be carried feet first into his own castle, he called for his favorite horse.

  When Burgundy saw his dark head appear in the courtyard below, he looked even more arrogant and blood-proud than she remembered. But when she saw Mr. Burke go to his side to help him dismount and half-carry him into the castle, her heart was in her mouth. He had received a bad sword wound to the thigh which refused to heal.

  Black eyes sought violet. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

  Her heart turned over in her breast. Why was he apologizing to her? Was he going to die? Was he going to be a cripple for the rest of his days? Not if she could help it, she vowed!

  "Bring him upstairs," she bade Mr. Burke.

  When Nicholas was on the bed, she picked up her scissors and advanced upon him, intending to cut off his hose and bandage.

  Nicholas appealed desperately to Burke. "You can see to it. Burgundy, is isn't pretty!"

  "Nothing about you is pretty, Mountjoy. I received a fine education from the queen's own tutors. Herbs and the care of wounds was taught by Elizabeth's physicians. Why do you not wish me to look at your leg? I know it is not from modesty; you have none."

  His lips twitched with amusement despite the pain. She was exactly as he remembered her. An instant challenge to his manhood, and he knew he would have her no other way.

  "Burke is no slouch at caring for wounds. Surely you don't wish to slight him? But if you wish to fight each other over me, go to it."

  Burgundy began to laugh. "You damned rogue. Two dogs slavering over a bone would amuse you, so we shall desist." She nodded her head to Mr. Burke. "You may have the pleasure of stripping him."

  Her humor covered her apprehension. When the long, puckered wound was uncovered, she was furious. "Bloody hell, who stitched this?"

  "A field surgeon. Conditions weren't exactly ideal."

  She saw that he was gray about the mouth. She knew she must act decisively; womanish hand-wringing and tears would avail him nothing. "I'll cleanse it, if your hand is steady enough to restitch it, Mr. Burke." Burgundy knew hers was not. Before she went for her herbs and hot water, she poured Nicholas a goblet of brandywine.

  Please God it deadens the agony.

  After he was bathed and bandaged, he wouldn't eat, but dozed occasionally between bouts of restless tossing. Burgundy sat with him, quietly reading her precious book, so that she could monitor his condition.

  About midnight, something awoke her.

  "Burgundy... I'm so damn cold."

  She moved to the bed and put a hand to his forehead, expectin
g him to be fevered. His skin was icy. She tucked the furs about him put extra coal on the fire, then slowly undressed.

  In the big bed she moved carefully to his side. His body was just as hard as she remembered, but it was considerably colder. She wrapped her arms about him and pressed her warm flesh to his. Gradually, his restlessness subsided, and finally she knew that he slept.

  His words floated through her memory: "One way or another I will make you hot for me, Burgundy."

  Before dawn he cried out in his sleep and thrashed wildly. He was not burning hot; she doubted he was delirious. "Nicholas, wake up. It's all right, it's just a nightmare," she soothed.

  He opened his eyes and thanked God he lay in his own castle, in his wife's arms.

  "It was a nightmare," he said low. "Ireland."

  A lump came into her throat. She could never imagine the nightmare that it must have been. He and his brave men had won against all odds. He had done his duty for Queen and Crown. It would have been catastrophic if Spain had seized Ireland to launch an attack on England.

  "It's over, Nicholas. It's over." She feathered kisses across his temple, and he closed his eyes to savor her tender concern.

  In a few days, dispatches came from the queen, thanking him and offering her congratulations on his victory. The only thing Elizabeth regretted was that he had spared the lives of the Spaniards and sent them home. She thought the enemy should have been put to the sword.

  Nicholas flung the letters across the chamber.

  Burgundy picked them up and read. Then she smiled at him. "I am proud of you. You acted with honor."

  "You understand," he said with wonder.

  Nicholas Mountjoy gradually regained his strength with the care his steward and his wife administered. He still couldn't walk far, but he and Burgundy rode to strengthen his leg. They rode along the sand, splashing through the waves that grew warmer each day.

  Rhododendrons and azaleas filled the castle gardens with their brilliant blooms, and the scent of roses and lilacs wafted in through the open windows. Whenever Burgundy came close, desire flared in him.

  Desire had awakened in Burgundy, too, and she found excuses to be with him, to talk, to touch. His thigh no longer needed a dressing, and she was almost regretful. The sexual tension between them became a living, breathing thing. Burgundy knew she would scream if he touched her.

  She would scream if he did not!

  One night Nicholas pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Ah, sweet heaven, the taste of her was intoxicating. With frenzied hands he bared her silken flesh for his avid gaze, his fingers, his mouth.

  His body was as yet not fully known to her and she wanted to learn the feel of every powerful, sculpted muscle. She wanted to look at him, to smell him, to taste him. She pushed off his robe so that she could indulge the fantasies she'd had about his hard body.

  Nicholas moaned with pleasure as he caressed her full, soft breasts. He explored her slowly and sensually, arousing and heightening all her senses. His lips caressed her throat and shoulders, feathering kisses, nibbling her silky flesh, whispering love words. Then his hand sought her heat below, filling his nostrils with her woman's scent. He closed his eyes, inhaling, savoring her awakening passion.

  Burgundy gasped as he slid his finger inside her. The pleasure was exquisite. Her sugared sheath contracted upon him, and he rejoiced that she was so passionately responsive. He knew this was the moment he had been waiting for. Now in her pride and passion he would make her wholly, gloriously his. He came full over her then, she opened for him, and he plunged down into Paradise.

  When he was sheathed to the hilt, he whispered all the things he would do to her, how it would make her feel, and how exquisite it felt to be deep inside her at last. They were drunk with love. She arched against him blindly; he thrust, scalding himself in her heat. He was big and hard and everything she had ever imagined he would be. The hot sliding friction of his savage thrusts aroused her to a frenzy. She loved the weight of his body on hers, adored the throbbing, pulsating fullness deep inside her, reveled in the exciting male scent of his skin, as he unleashed the fierce desire that had been riding him for so long. She was so tight and hot, Nicholas thought he might die from pure pleasure. The tremors seized them at the same exquisite moment. She clung and shivered and cried his name.

  Later, as she lay in his arms, he cupped her cheek tenderly. "Do you love me, Burgundy?"

  "Yes, I do," she answered quickly. She knew she would never change her mind.

  His arms tightened around her. His lips brushed her brow, moved lightly over her temples, then gently kissed each eyelid. "I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Burgundy.

  They lay entwined, whispering, murmuring, for hours.

  "I've been thinking... perhaps swimming would strengthen your leg. What think you, m'lord?"

  "Mmm, if we swim by moonlight, if we swim naked, I think it would strengthen me considerably." He stood up and pulled her by the hand. "Let's try it."

  Much later, after they had dried before the fire, he lay abed watching her write in a book. "What are you doing, my love?"

  "Perhaps I'll show you someday." She smiled as she looked down at what she had written:

  WITH HONOR CAME GLORY!

  Burgundy Mountjoy, Countess of Devon,

  1602.

  The End