Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 11

T he day after her betrothal ceremony, Philippa celebrated her sixteenth birthday. Her sister, Banon, now dismissed from the queen’s service, arrived at Bolton House early with all her belongings. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and she had a more sophisticated air about her now than when she had arrived at court several months back. Banon had turned fourteen on the first day of March.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday,” she said, flinging her gloves aside as she pulled them from her elegant little hands, “but the mistress of the maids said since I would be at your wedding it didn’t matter. The old cow!” She hugged Philippa eagerly. “The queen said I might go this morning, and believe me I was out of the palace even before the first mass. The place is in an uproar with the move today to Greenwich. Honestly I don’t see what you see in living at court. All that pandemonium and commotion, not to mention the constant moving.” She stopped. “Oh! Happy natal day, sister!” And she kissed both of Philippa’s cheeks. Then stepping back she said, “You look pale. Are you alright?”

“Uncle Tom says I am suffering from what he describes as bridal nerves,” Philippa answered her younger sister. “I am so glad to see you, Banon! Come, and let us have something to eat before my new sisters-in-law come into the hall. They never stop chattering, and they are so provincial. They are sweet, but I think I am grateful they will not live near us.” She took Banon’s hand in hers, and together they seated themselves at the table while the servants hurried to bring them food, and set goblets of morning ale before them.

“Ohh, real food again!” Banon enthused. “I found the food at court almost inedible, I fear.” She pulled a piece from the hot cottage loaf that had been placed before them, buttering it lavishly and taking a bite. A blissful look came over Banon’s face as the butter drizzled down her chin. “Ah, that is pure heaven,” she said.

“One day you will get fat,” Philippa teased her sister.

“I don’t care,” Banon said. “I shall have Otterly, my bairns, and Robert. ’Tis all I want in life, sister. And Robert won’t care. More of me to love, he always says.”

Philippa shook her head. “How is it that you and Robert can speak so easily with one another? You have known him hardly longer than I have known the earl.”

“Philippa, you are my older sister, and you know without my saying that I love you, but you have too much of the queen in you. I mean neither you nor the queen any disrespect when I say that, but you should be more like mama. She has a zest for life, and devil take the hindmost. She is not afraid of giving in to passion. The first night she and Glenkirk met he bedded her, and she was more than willing, it is said.” Banon dipped her spoon into her trencher of warm oat stirabout, bringing it to her mouth. It was flavored with bits of apple, cinnamon, sugar, and heavy cream.

“How do you know such a thing?” Philippa demanded, surprised.

“Uncle Tom told me,” Banon said. “I have lived with him since I turned twelve, after all. And while she resisted our stepfather, she also longed for him,” Banon added. “But you have held Crispin St. Claire at bay, whether from shyness or prudery I do not know. But no matter, the effect has been the same, and now you will marry him tomorrow, and you can no longer hold him at bay. You would not be doing your duty as a wife if you did.”

“I know,” Philippa admitted. “I am so confused, and not just a little frightened.”

“Of what?” Banon wanted to know.

“Of him. The earl. He is a very strong-willed man,” Philippa explained.

Banon laughed aloud. “You are a very strong-willed girl,” she said.

“He took me into the gardens after the ceremony yesterday, and he kissed me again and again,” Philippa replied.

“And?” Banon probed.

“He loosened my laces! He fondled my breast! He said I was his pupil, and he would teach me passion, that in two days’ time I would be his wife, and I would do my duty towards him,” Philippa said. “I ran back into the house and stayed in my chamber the rest of the day.”

Banon shook her head. “You are determined to be unhappy, I see. What is the matter with you, Philippa? The earl is a charming man. He is not very well known at court but those who know him speak of his ethic and good nature. No one has forced you to this match. I cannot believe you are behaving like a shrinking virgin, and a ninny.”

“I am a shrinking virgin,” Philippa protested.

“You are a ninny first, I suspect. I am almost tempted to stay my own betrothal in an effort to aid you. That is what sisters are for, but I will be damned if I hold back from my own happiness because you are behaving like a silly fool,” Banon declared. “If I were not in love with Robert Neville I would steal the earl from you and marry him myself!” She drank down half the contents of her goblet in irritation. “He is most preeminent as prospective husbands go.”

“Why, thank you, Mistress Banon,” the earl said, coming up to join them at the high board. He gave her a warm smile, and then turned to Philippa. “You are feeling better this morning, little one?” He kissed her forehead as he sat down next to Philippa.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered him, her eyes lowered.

“Well, I’ve had all I want to eat for now,” Banon said, getting up from the table. “I’m going to go and take a nap. One never gets enough sleep at court, I fear. I shall see you both later.”

“I will go with you,” Philippa said, and she made to stand up, but the earl would not let her. She turned to him questioningly.

“I don’t want you to go with me, you lackwit!” Banon snapped, and she ran from the hall.

“This foolishness must cease,” the earl told Philippa.

“I know,” she agreed. “I do not know what is the matter with me, my lord. I have never before been a coward.” She filled his goblet from the pitcher on the table, and buttered a piece of the cottage loaf for him.

“We will spend the day together,” he told her. “We will take Tom’s barge out on the river, and row upstream away from the city. We will bring a basket with us and have a picnic, just the two of us. Not my chattering sisters, or your charming sister, or the flamboyant Lord Cambridge. Just us. And you will tell me of your family, and why you have an aversion to sheep,” he teased her, “and I will tell you of my early years.”

“Oh, I should like that,” Philippa said, and she smiled at him.

“You are tired, little one. I can see it. You take life most seriously, and I wonder if you have ever been care-free in all of your life,” he said, and he caressed her face with his fingers.

“When I was little, and lived at Friarsgate,” she said softly. “Mama watched over all of us and saw we were happy and safe. There were lessons with Father Mata, and we learned to swim in our lake. I remember seeing newborn lambs just from their mother’s wombs. Sheep are not very intelligent, and drop their newborns in the worst of winter,” she told him.

“It sounds most peaceful and idyllic,” he replied.

She laughed. “It does, doesn’t it.” She stood up. “I am not running away, I promise, my lord, but I would go to the kitchens and tell cook we will need a basket for our picnic. I shall return quickly, and you shall eat while I am gone.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Do not be long, little one. I find I am coming to quite enjoy your company,” he said to her.

What a sweet thing to say, Philippa considered as she hurried off to the kitchens of Bolton House. Banon was right. She was being a ninny. But the queen had instructed all her maids of honor to chaste behavior, and was not the king’s wife a shining example of virtue to her kingdom’s womenfolk? While Philippa had seen the king give his wife a public kiss now and again, he was far more familiar with some of the court ladies, and Philippa knew that the court was in certain areas a haven for licentious behavior of a salacious variety. She wasn’t certain what was right and what was wrong. If indeed there was a right or wrong about it all.

Reaching her destination, she instructed the cook to fill a basket with bread, ham, cheese, and wine. “And some of those delicious-looking meat pasties coming out of the ovens right now,” she said, “and oh, I see early strawberries, some of them as well. Pack enough, Master Cook, for the earl is a big man, and likes his food.”

“When will you want it?” the cook inquired politely.

“In an hour, or possibly even less,” Philippa said. “I’ll send Lucy for it.”

“There will be just the two of you?” the cook asked.

Philippa nodded, feeling a small blush touch her cheeks. “Aye,” she responded, and then departed the kitchens.

Upstairs in the hall she found that the earl was just about finished with his morning meal. He was yet alone, for Lord Cambridge rarely rose before ten in the morning when he was in London. Neither were the earl’s sisters in evidence.

“I will wait until Uncle Thomas is up,” Philippa said, “so I may tell him where we are going. Would you like to go into the gardens? The day is fair.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “but first I have a small surprise for you, Philippa. It is your natal day, is it not? You are sixteen today. I have brought you a small gift.” He held out a velvet bag to her.

“How kind!” she exclaimed, surprised. “What is it?”

“Open the bag,” he smiled, “if you wish to know.”

Philippa spilled the contents of the bag into her upturned palm to reveal a delicate gold chain to which was attached a round gold pendant studded with sapphire stars. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “It’s beautiful, my lord. Thank you so much! The only man who has ever given me jewelry before is Uncle Thomas.” She held the chain and pendant up, admiring it as it sparkled in the sunlight of the hall.

“Well, now it will be my privilege to gift my wife with jewelry. Let me put it on you,” the earl said, taking the chain from her and turning her about to slip it over her head. “My mother wore this piece, Philippa, and my grandmother. It is always given to St. Claire countesses. I had an ancestor who fought with King Richard. He brought it back from the Holy Land.” Then his arms went about her waist, and he dropped a kiss upon her shoulder. His hand adjusted the pendant, his fingers slipping between her breasts for the briefest moment as if by accident, but they both knew it was no accident.

Philippa’s pulse raced, but she did not scold him, or even flinch. By tomorrow she would be his wife. Whatever the queen said about the virtue of chastity in a marriage, this innocent play could not be wrong between a man and his wife. The betrothal agreement made them a married couple already according to the law of the land. Once the church rendered its blessing and gave them the sacrament it would be fact. If the purpose of marriage was children, then she must yield to his desires. And why should she not yield to her own desires? There were so many questions she needed answers to, and for the first time in three years Philippa Meredith wanted her mother.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her. “You are very silent, little one.”

“I wish my mother were here, for there is much I have to ask her,” Philippa said.

“I expect ignorance and inexperience of you, Philippa,” he said, guessing the direction her thoughts must be taking. Then to his surprise Philippa laughed.

“You must not read my mind, my lord,” she told him. Then she turned and kissed him on the lips without any prompting at all. “Thank you again. The chain and the pendant are lovely, and I will cherish them.”

They walked out into the garden to discover that the river was filled with barges making their way from Richmond down the Thames to Greenwich. Philippa recognized many of the vessels, with their colorful flags flying, and their inhabitants as well. She waved at them gaily, and hailed many by name. The royal barge appeared, and as it came even with Lord Cambridge’s quay she curtseyed low, as by her side the earl bowed low.

“Philippa! Philippa!” A small figure in a bright scarlet gown waved wildly from the royal barge.

Philippa waved back, and curtseyed again as the earl bowed as well. “It is the princess Mary,” she told him. “Safe journey, your highness!” she called as the royal barge moved past Bolton House with stately grace. “We can sit down now,” Philippa told the earl, settling herself on a marble bench.

“Does everyone go to Greenwich by barge?” he asked her. “And why, when Richmond is downriver of Bolton House, did we see them at all?”

“In the spring, aye. And of course not everyone can afford to keep a barge, so it is important to have friends that have one, or a friend who has a friend. The court departs when the king decrees, and sometimes the tide is not with them. They come upriver first, turn with the tide, and then go back down again. The king could just as easily wait, but he will not.” She smiled. “If you listen you can hear the baggage carts rumbling along the road outside of our gates now. And here and there among them those who could not find seats on the barges, pretending they wanted to ride anyway. One must be very rich or have important relations or friends to succeed at court. I have been very fortunate. From the first time I came to court I knew it was where I wanted to be. I cannot imagine any other life.”

“You know I cannot allow you as much time at court as you have had,” he said. “You will have other duties to attend to as the countess of Witton. We can go for the Christmas revels, and in May, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed amiably, thinking to herself that once the queen recalled her to be one of her ladies her husband could not gainsay her. And the queen had hinted that she would be recalling Philippa eventually. I can wait, Philippa thought.

Lucy came into the garden and, finding them, curtseyed. “Cook says he has your basket ready, mistress. Good morning, my lord!”

“I had best go tell Uncle Thomas that we are going to take the barge, and picnic,” Philippa said. “Put the basket in the barge, Lucy, please.” She arose and went off.

“Are my sisters up yet, Lucy?” the earl asked.

“I ain’t heard a peep out of them or their tiring women, my lord,” Lucy replied.

“Do you think you will be happy at Brierewode? It is not Cumbria,” he told her.

“I am content wherever my mistress is, my lord,” Lucy said, curtseying again. “I must put the basket in the barge now.”

He stood up. “I’ll take it, lass,” he said, taking it from her hand. “Which barge?”

“The one with the Friarsgate blue and silver curtains,” Lucy said. “Lord Cambridge had it made for my mistress’s mother when she came to court after Sir Owein’s death. My sister is in service to the lady of Friarsgate.”

“Do you think the lady of Friarsgate will like me?” the earl wondered.

“If you’re good to her lass, aye, she will,” Lucy responded pertly.

“I am endeavoring very hard to be good to your mistress, Lucy,” Crispin St. Claire said with a small smile at the young tiring woman.

“She takes to heart too much what the queen says, my lord, but you never heard me say it,” Lucy told him with a broad wink. “If you gets my meaning.”

The earl laughed. “I do, and I shall struggle to overcome that influence as swiftly as possible, Lucy.” Then he walked away with the basket towards the little barge bobbing on the river by Lord Cambridge’s quay.

In the meantime Philippa had gone back into the house and hurried up the staircase to her cousin’s apartments. She knocked softly, to be admitted by Thomas Bolton’s personal servant.

“Good morning, Mistress Philippa,” the man greeted her.

“Is he awake yet?” she asked.

“For over an hour, and already dictating his orders to Master Smythe. Shall I tell him you are here?” the serving man asked politely.

She nodded, and was quickly admitted.

“Darling girl, a most happy natal day!” Lord Cambridge called to her as she entered his bedchamber.

“May I echo his lordship’s good wishes, Mistress Philippa?” William Smythe said, bowing to her. He was standing by the bed.

“You may,” she told him.

“Darling girl, what is that piece of jewelry you are wearing about your lovely neck? I have not seen it before, and I certainly did not give it to you. Come closer so I may inspect it more thoroughly,” he said.

“Isn’t it lovely? The earl gave it to me as a gift for my natal day, uncle. He says it belonged to his mother, his grandmother, and all the way back to an ancestor of his who fought with Coeur de Lion and brought it back from the Holy Land.” She lifted the chain and pendant from about her neck and handed it to Lord Cambridge.

He took it and examined it, then handed it back to her. “It is quite superior, darling girl,” he told her. “I can but hope his taste is as good as his ancestor’s.”

“I came to tell you that we are going to take mama’s barge and picnic somewhere on the river today,” she told him. “The court just went by down to Greenwich.”

“Why the king will not schedule his goings with the tide is beyond me,” Thomas Bolton said. “But he will control everything touching his life, won’t he? Go, darling girl, and enjoy your day. I shall keep the sisters amused, you may be certain. Perhaps I shall take them to the tower to see the king’s lions. I will wager neither has ever been. Where is Banon? She has arrived already?”

Philippa nodded. “We broke our fast together, and she has gone to nap. She is most delighted to be with you and going home to Otterly. Will Robert Neville go with you, or has he already left for the north?”

“No, no, he is here. He will travel with us, for we must stop at his father’s and settle the betrothal agreement and set the wedding date before we may reach home. I expect him at Bolton House before day’s end. Is that correct, Will?”

“Indeed, my lord, it is,” the secretary replied with a short bow.

“Then I am off,” Philippa said. “Pray I can escape into the garden without being accosted by one of my sisters-in-law.” Then she was gone out the door. In the upper corridor it was still quiet. Philippa scampered quickly down the staircase, and peeked into the hall. It was empty but for a serving woman polishing the furniture. Moving through the door into the garden, Philippa almost danced her way down to the stone quay where she found the earl awaiting her. Gallantly he handed her into the barge.

“I have given the rowers their instructions,” he said as he settled her, and then sat next to her. “We are ready,” he called to the two bargemen.

The little vessel moved off upriver, struggling against the tide, keeping close to the shoreline where the current was less treacherous.

“Where are we going?” Philippa asked him.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he answered. “This is not a part of the river with which I am familiar. I’ll know the spot when I see it.” He drew her into his arms.

“How will you be able to see what you’re looking for if you’re kissing me?” she asked curiously. His gray eyes held an expression she didn’t understand, but it didn’t frighten her at all.

“I doubt there is a perfect spot so near Lord Cambridge’s house,” he quickly replied, “so it is best to fill our time kissing, madame. Practice, I am told, makes perfect.” His lips brushed hers. “You have been very negligent in your studies, little one.” He kissed her softly and slowly.

“I was but waiting for the proper instructor, my lord,” she told him coyly when he freed her lips once again. “Are you he, mayhap?” She was flirting, Philippa thought. She was actually flirting with the man she was to marry on the morrow.

He tipped her face up to his, gazing into the hazel eyes that looked shyly back at him. “I am he, Philippa,” he told her. “I will teach you with all the skill at my command, not just kissing, but the ways of passion as well. Do you understand, little one?”

“Aye,” she whispered, and then she said, “I did not wear a chemise today, and my gown is front-laced, my lord.” Then her cheeks grew pink with the bold admission.

He was astounded. “Philippa,” he said low. “You do me honor.”

“Well, we are to be married tomorrow, and we are formally betrothed,” she reasoned. “You are an honorable man, I know. If I am a bit liberal today with the cream, you will still purchase the cow, I am sure now.”

“I will,” he agreed, smiling down into her eyes.

“You have never before been wed?” she asked him. “Not even betrothed?”

“Nay. While my father lived I saw no need to marry, and my sisters had sons to take the title should something happen to me,” he explained.

“But you did not remain at Brierewode,” she noted.

“There was naught for me to do, Philippa. My father managed his estates with little help. He and his old bailiff, Roald. He had no intention of sharing his authority even with his only son and heir. I cannot be idle. I drifted into the court and caught the eye of Cardinal Wolsey. The next thing I knew I was being sent on diplomatic missions. Little ones at first, and then larger ones. And one day I was sent to San Lorenzo, one of those little duchies between France and Italy. The king’s ambassador had managed to irritate the duke, and was dismissed by him. I was sent as his replacement, but the duke would have no more Englishmen.”The earl chuckled. “I managed to smooth the duke’s ruffled feathers, but was sent home nonetheless. My next posting was to the duchy of Cleves. I was there when my father died. It was at that point I left the royal service. There was no time for a wife while I served the king.”

“You are younger than your sisters,” Philippa said.

“Aye, I am. I am thirty, Marjorie is thirty-seven, and Susanna is thirty-five. My mother was not very strong but she was determined to give her husband a healthy son. The effort sapped her strength. She died right after my second birthday. My sisters mothered me until they wed, and by that time I was old enough to survive on my own.”

“I was barely six when my father died,” Philippa told him. “I can remember him but barely now, and my sisters remember him not at all. My littlest sister, Bessie, is said to resemble him, but Banon and I are like our mother. And my half brothers look like my stepfather, Logan Hepburn.”

“He is a Scot, I am told,” the earl said.

“Aye. His home is just over the border from Friarsgate. He has loved mama ever since he was a boy, to hear him tell it. He saw her first with her uncle at a cattle fair. He was very determined to have her to wife. He and his brothers brought salmon and whiskey to my parents’ wedding, and they played their pipes. Mama says she was angry, but that papa found it amusing.”

“Was your mother much at court?” he wondered.

“Nay, my mother hated court. When her second husband died she was sent into King Henry VII’s protective custody. She was only thirteen, I think, and her uncle Henry wanted to marry her off to his little boy to keep Friarsgate in the Bolton family. The king sent my father to escort mama to court where she met the Scots queen and Queen Katherine. They were all girls together in the Venerable Margaret’s household. My parents were betrothed, and returned north with the queen of Scotland’s wedding train. After papa died, mama visited Queen Margaret, and then Queen Katherine. But she was always eager to return home to Friarsgate. She and Logan move between it and his Claven’s Carn.”

“But you love the court,” he said.

“From the first time I came with mama and Uncle Thomas!” Philippa told him.

“Well, there is something we have in common,” he told her. “I like the court too. But of course we must make us an heir before we can spend too much time there.”

Philippa nodded. “I know my duty, my lord, and I promise you that I will do it.”

“But first,” he said, “we need to become more intimate, little one. You know that babies do not come from the fairies, I assume.” His big hand cupped her face.

“I am most aware of it, my lord, but I am not yet certain just how it is all accomplished,” she admitted candidly.

“I am a patient man to a point, Philippa, which surely you must admit you can understand by now,” he began, and his fingers began to unlace her bodice slowly. “We shall attain our goal while giving each other much pleasure.” He loosened the laces enough to open the garment, and he gazed with admiration upon her small creamy round breasts. “Ahh, how lovely you are,” he told her, a single finger tracing a path between the two breasts.

Philippa bit her lip nervously, and whispered to him so softly that he had to lean nearer to hear her. “The rowers, my lord.”

Her warm fragrance rose up to assail his nostrils. “... have not eyes in the back of their heads, as I have previously told you, little one.” He cupped one breast in his palm. It lay soft and quivering like a young dove newly netted. He touched the nipple with a fingertip, and it immediately puckered tightly. He bent his dark head and licked the nipple slowly, slowly.

Philippa hadn’t realized that she wasn’t breathing until she exhaled gustily. “Oh!” The sound was small, sharp, and very surprised.

“Did you like that?” he asked her, raising his head from her breast.

She nodded, her hazel eyes very wide. But for the moment she could not speak.

“Would you like me to do it again?” he said.

“Aye!” She managed to squeeze the word out but her throat was tight.

He drew her deeper into his embrace, and now his face pressed itself against the warm flesh bared to his sight. He covered her little breasts with kisses, and at one point felt her beating heart beneath his lips. He licked at the other nipple, and then he took it into the warmth of his mouth and began to suckle upon it gently.

Philippa shuddered with the utter pleasure he was giving her. A low moan escaped her lips, and then he suckled harder and harder upon her nipple until she felt an odd sensation in her nether regions, a tingle, no, a tiny throb, and she was wet but not from pee. It was a warm and sticky substance. She moved against him.

Suddenly Crispin St. Claire lifted his head from her bosom. The look in his eyes was one of unexpected surprise. Clumsily he began to relace her gown. “Are you a witch?” he asked her low.

“I do not understand,” Philippa replied. “Why have you stopped? I liked it!”

“So did I,” he admitted. “Perhaps too much, little one. I have never considered myself lustful, and yet I believe if we continue on in so intimate a manner I may steal your virginity from you before our union is blessed by the church. You would hate me for it, Philippa, and I do not want you to hate me.”

“Let me,” she said, and she completed the lacing, tying the bodice neatly in a small bow. “I have never before been touched in so tender and familiar a manner, my lord. I feared it, and yet when you made yourself free with my person, I was not afraid.” She sighed. “Indeed I enjoyed it, and regretted it when you stopped.”

“When this all began,” he told her, “it was for the land. But now I find that I desire you very much. But I honor you as my wife as well. I will not take your virtue in a boat upon the Thames, though were you not a virgin, Philippa, you would have been impaled upon my loveshaft five minutes ago.” Then he kissed her hungrily, his mouth exploring hers fiercely, forcing her lips to part, pushing his tongue between them to forage for her tongue.

Startled, she found that tongue caressing her tongue fervently. His hard body was pressed tightly against hers, crushing her breasts until she cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry!” he apologized. “God’s boots, what is this magic you have suddenly unleashed upon me, little one?” Jesu! His cock was as hard as stone from what should have been an innocent encounter to prepare his bride for her marital duties.

“Am I magical, my lord?” She was teasing him now, and to her surprise Philippa felt happier than she could ever remember feeling.

He laughed. “Aye, you are enchanting me, little one. And you have no idea at this moment of the power you hold over me, but you do. I think you will become a very dangerous woman one day soon.”

“I do not understand, but I will admit that I like the sound of your words, my lord,” she responded.

“Philippa, my name is Crispin. An odd, and an old-fashioned name, I will admit.”

“It is not odd at all,” she told him. “It is from the Latin, Crispis, and he is the patron saint of shoemakers, my lord.”

“I should like to hear you say my name,” he said to her.

“Crispin,” Philippa said, “but there must be more.”

“Crispin Edward Henry John St. Claire,” he said. “Edward and Henry for the kings, and John for my father.”

“Why Crispin?” she asked him.

“It is a family name, and every few generations one male in the family is blessed or cursed, depending on his viewpoint, with the name,” he explained.

“I like it, Crispin. Oh, look! On the right bank of the river, a grove of willows. What a lovely place for our picnic! Please tell the rowers to pull in to the shore.”

The earl drew the diaphanous curtains aside and gave the order, and the rowers obeyed his command. The little boat touched the shore, and the earl jumped out, turning to help Philippa disembark. One of the rowers handed them the picnic basket, a coverlet for them to sit upon, and several silken pillows.

“There was an inn just downriver, milord,” one of the two rowers said. “May Ned and me go back?”

“How long until the tide turns again?” the earl asked him.

“About four hours, milord, and then there is the calm between the tides,” the man answered him.

“Come back in three hours’ time then, or sooner if you prefer. Let us try and catch the tide downriver before it turns again,” Crispin St. Claire said.

“Thank ye, milord,” the rower responded, and then jumping back into the barge, he and his mate turned the vessel about and headed back down the Thames to where they had seen an inn.

Philippa had spread the coverlet on the ground beneath a large willow. She set the pillows about and put the basket down. “Will you come and sit by my side, Crispin?” she cooed at him. Why had she ever been afraid of the intimacy between a man and a woman? When he had caressed her it had been wonderful. Before he turned back to her she pulled open the bow holding her laces tied, and quickly licked her lips.

He turned, and caught his breath. She was simply lovely. She wore no cap or veil, and her rich auburn hair flowed artlessly down her back. Her silk gown, a flattering Tudor green, was one piece. Her lips beckoned him on to his destruction. What the hell was the matter with him? Why this sudden burst of uncontrollable lust for Philippa Meredith? She took a deep breath, exhaled, and the laces of her gown gave way dangerously, and then she sat down upon the coverlet.

“Will you not join me, my lord?” she invited him sweetly.

“This was not a good idea,” he said as if to himself.

“Of course it was,” she disagreed. “Are we not getting to know one another better, Crispin?” She held out her hand to him. “Come, and sit with me. I want to be kissed and cuddled again. We are alone, and there is no one to see us in our little riverside grove of willows.”

He did not take her hand, but he sat down. He was a grown man. A man of experience. He could certainly restrain himself one more day. He was not some green and callow youth who sprayed his seed down his hose in a frenzy of eager desire. “I am hungry,” he said, eyeing the basket. Food would take his mind from his passion.

“So am I,” she replied, eying him as if he were some particularly rich sweet that she just had to have. Now.

He felt his mouth struggling not to smile. What had he done with just a few kisses and caresses. It was as if all her ladylike inhibitions were forgotten. “Madame,” he said in what he hoped was a stern, warning voice, “you must learn to control yourself.”

“Why?” she questioned him, pouting adorably. “I want to be kissed.”

“But just yesterday you did not. Why this sudden change in you?” he demanded to know. “First I cannot get you to kiss me, and now you must kiss me.”

“We are betrothed now. Our wedding is tomorrow,” she said as if that explained it all. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Crispin? Are you one of those men who wants what he cannot have until he gets it, and then he doesn’t want it anymore?”

“Philippa, I want to kiss you. I want to caress those sweet little titties of yours. But I have discovered to my surprise that what began as a mere lesson in passion to reassure you has whetted my desires so greatly that I am not certain I can control them. I want you a virgin tomorrow night. Our wedding night. I want the servants to gossip about the bloodstain on the bedsheet after we have departed for Brierewode. In the years to come I want them to remember that you were pure and untouched when I first took you. That you were an honorable woman.”

“Oh, Crispin!” she cried. “I should kiss you if you had not already assured me it would release the ravening beast in you. When I have returned to the queen’s service I shall proudly tell her of the honorable man to whom I am married. You are just what she would have wished for me. Alas, however, it seems that you have aroused a lustful nature in me that is perhaps not quite respectable. I long for your touch.”

“And I for yours, little one, but we will restrain ourselves for now. We will not have to restrain ourselves in another day. So you think the queen would approve of my gallantry, do you? Do you think I am the kind of man your mother would want for you?”

“I doubt it would matter to my mother, as you will not be the master of Friarsgate,” she told him frankly. “She will be happy that I am happy, for I know she loves me even if we do not always see eye to eye. You will like her.”

“I hope that you will like Brierewode,” he said. “The countryside is very unlike your wild Cumbria. The hills are gentle and the meadows green.”

“Are we on the Thames?” she asked him.

“Nay, we are to the west of the river, but I have planned with your uncle that we travel home via the river. We shall have his large barge, as he is returning to Otterly with your sister the day after our wedding. We shall go as far as Henley, where our horses will be awaiting us. We will ride cross-country to Cholsey, and then continue on by barge to Oxfordtown itself. After that we will ride home. It should take us about seven days. Your Lucy and my Peter will travel overland with the luggage cart. We will meet them first in Cholsey, and then Oxford.”

“Where will we stay at night?” she asked him.

“There are several charming inns along the river, and Lord Cambridge has made arrangements for us,” he told her.

“So we shall drift up the river alone, together, with no cares,” she said.

“I thought you would enjoy it,” he told her. “And had we not suddenly gotten along so famously it would have given us time to learn about one another.”

“Shall we make love along the way?” she teased him.

He grinned. “Oh, madame, I have much to teach you, and I am delighted to find in you such a willing pupil,” the earl told her. “Now open that damned basket, Philippa, for one of my appetites must be fed this minute or I cannot be responsible for what will happen.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly. Marriage to this man, she suddenly decided, was not going to be so bad after all.