Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 13

W hen they had finished their meal and the servants had cleared the high board, a long and awkward silence ensued between them. Finally the earl said in a quiet voice that nonetheless brooked no resistance, “I believe we should retire, my dear. I shall remain in the hall until Lucy tells my serving man that you are prepared for bed.” He stood up, taking her hand to lead her down from the high board. Then he kissed the icy little hand, bowed, and said, “I am patient to a point, Philippa.”

She curtseyed to him, the color drained from her face, and she swayed slightly. But then she took a deep breath, saying, “I will try not to keep you waiting, my lord,” and drawing her hand from his, she turned and hurried from the hall. Reaching her apartment she entered her bedchamber and gasped, surprised. “Lucy! What has happened here?”

“Lord Cambridge had the entire room redone today after you left for the church, and while you were all feasting, and this afternoon while you and the earl was in the garden. He had everything prepared and ready. He said that you and your husband should begin on an even playing field. That you should not remember the bedchamber of your girlhood as the place you spent your wedding night. He wanted it all different.”

Philippa gazed about her. Gone were the rose-colored velvet draperies that had hung on the windows and curtained the bed. This had been her mother’s room once, and then it had been hers ever since she had come to court. The furniture in both rooms of the apartment was the same, except for the bed in her bedchamber which had been replaced by a very large bed that would obviously accommodate two. The draperies were now a rich shade of burgundy reds and the Turkey carpets deep reds and blues. The velvet curtains that would surround the bed were hung from fine shiny brass rings.

“Well,” Philippa said, half laughing, “he has accomplished his goal, but I rather liked the rose velvet.”

“It was faded and worn, my lady. This is so rich and fine,” Lucy said.

“For one night,” Philippa said softly, “and all so my memories of the rose velvet room would always be happy ones. Uncle Thomas is the most thoughtful of gentlemen. No one else, not even my mother, would have considered such an extravagance.”

“He loves all you lasses very much, does Lord Cambridge,” Lucy said. “Come now, my lady, ’tis no use dawdling.”

Philippa gave her tiring woman a small smile, and nodded. “It sounds so strange to my ears to hear you call me my lady,” she said to Lucy while the older girl unlaced her bodice. Her own fingers undid the tabs holding the bodice to her skirts.

“You’re the countess of Witton now, my lady,” Lucy said proudly. She worked busily as she spoke, loosening the sleeves and drawing the bodice off by them, laying it aside. Then she unlaced her mistress’s skirts, the petticoats and the shake fold beneath them. Philippa stepped from them, and Lucy gathered everything up, bustling off into the small chamber where all of her lady’s clothing was kept.

Philippa walked over to her jewel casket, opened it and, removing her earbobs and pearls, put them away. Seating herself she slipped off her shoes and, easing her garters, rolled her stockings from her legs. Lucy came from the other room, gathered them up, and disappeared again. A basin with warm water had been set on the oak table. The young woman bathed her hands and her face. Then she scrubbed her teeth with a mixture of pumice and mint, using a small cloth. She was doing everything as she did it every night before she went to bed. But tonight there would be a husband in her bed.

Lucy came back, and thrust the chamber pot at her. “Pee,” she ordered, “and then bathe yourself there.”

Philippa’s first instinct was to argue she didn’t need to pee, but she found that she did. She obeyed her maidservant’s instructions. Lucy emptied the pot out the bedchamber window, then rinsed it with the water from the basin, and emptied it the same way. She tucked the chamber pot beneath the bed again.

“Well, you’re as ready as you’re going to be,” she said. Then she curtseyed, and without another word was gone out the door of the bedchamber. Philippa heard the door to her little apartment close as Lucy hurried into the hallway beyond.

“My hair,” Philippa said softly, and then she laughed at herself. She was perfectly capable of brushing her own hair. Taking up her brush she sat down in the window seat overlooking the gardens. One hundred strokes was what Maybel and mama had taught her. Each morning, and each night. The boar’s bristles slicked rhythmically through her long, thick tresses.

Philippa watched the river as she brushed. There was a crescent moon tonight, and above it a bright star. It was so beautiful. If only it could stay just like this forever, she thought. And then the door to her bedchamber opened, and she heard him as he stepped into the room.

Philippa did not turn about, but her hand stopped midway in a stroke. He said nothing, but he took the brush from her hand and began to skim it through her long auburn hair. She sat silently, barely breathing as he brushed. Finally he spoke.

“Have you kept count? Is it a hundred yet?”

“I lost count,” she said, “but it must be, or more.”

“Then we have finished,” he replied. “You have beautiful hair, Philippa.” He took a handful, and bringing it to his lips, kissed it. He sat next to her on the window seat, his arm sliding about her slender waist. She stiffened and he loosened his grip, but slightly. His hand pushed her long hair to one side, and he gently kissed the nape of her neck. It was a slow and lingering kiss. Philippa shivered slightly. The hand moved around to untie the ribbons holding her chemise closed.

“Please no!” she pleaded softly, her own hands going to stop his.

“I am only going to caress your sweet breasts, little one,” he told her, whispering in her ear, kissing it.

“I am so afraid,” she admitted.

“Of what?” he asked gently.

“Of this. Of you. Of what must happen between us tonight,” she told him, the words spilling out in a desperate rush.

“This,” he said, “is simply a caress.” He had pushed her hands away, and drawing the chemise aside had cupped her left breast. “I am your husband, Philippa, and you need have no fear of me ever unless you betray me. What must happen tonight between us is to satisfy your family that you are indeed my wife in every way, else I steal your dower, and put you aside for non-consummation.”

“But you would never do that!” she cried. “You are an honorable man.”

“I am delighted that you understand that,” he. told her, smiling. “And that is why our union will be consummated tonight, Philippa. Because I am an honorable man. Come, little one, there is nothing to fear. I will join my body with yours, and we will both receive pleasure in the union.”

“Why must it be tonight? Could we not wait?”

“How long would you propose we wait?” he asked her, amused.

“I don’t know,” she said, almost crying.

“Which is why it will be tonight, Philippa. The longer we tarry in our duty the more frightened you will become. Once the deed is done you will see it is not terrible at all. Mayhap you might even want to do it again, and yet again,” he teased her.

“The queen says that the union of a husband and a wife is for the sole purpose of procreation, my lord, and nothing more. And that is what the church teaches as well.”

“I will have neither the queen nor the church in our bed, Philippa,” he said, and his voice had grown hard. “There will be only two in our bed. You and me!” He pulled her roughly into his lap and, a hand grasping her head to hold it still, he kissed her hard.

His mouth worked roughly against hers until her lips parted, seemingly of their own volition. His tongue plunged deep, finding hers, stroking it, subduing it, kissing and kissing her until she was breathless. She shuddered, but to her surprise her arms wrapped themselves about his neck. “I like it when you kiss me,” she murmured.

“You were meant to be kissed,” he said roughly. “Kissed, and caressed, and made love to, little one. I find I can behave like a gentleman when I am not touching you, but when you lie in my arms like this and I pet those sweet breasts that you possess, then, Philippa, I lose control of myself. I cannot ever remember a woman lighting such a fire of lust in my loins.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “You desire me?” she asked him shyly.

The warm gray eyes engaging her hazel eyes gave her the answer even before he spoke. “Aye, I want you, little one,” he told her. “And now I am glad you held me off these past weeks, for tonight we shall take a journey of exploration together that can only end in sweet pleasure for us both.”

Philippa felt as if every bone in her body had just melted away. She wasn’t even certain she had the strength to move, or speak. He tipped her from his lap but momentarily, pushing her chemise from her shoulders. She felt the silk sliding down her body, her hips, her thighs, her legs. He lifted her from the fabric and took her into his lap again as he sat. She was naked! She didn’t know where to look. Her throat grew tight.

Only a few women had ever seen her naked. She had never been naked before a man until now. What would the queen say? Had the queen ever been naked before the king? Philippa didn’t think so. Katherine even wore a chemise when she bathed.

“This is not fair,” she said. “You are taking advantage of my innocence, my lord.”

“You are right,” he agreed, and tipped her from his lap again. “I should be naked too, and then we are equals once more.” He stripped his silk chemise off and tossed it onto the floor near hers. “There,” he said.

Philippa’s hands flew to cover her eyes. “Oh, my lord!” she cried. “The candles still burn and light the chamber.”

“Aye, they do,” he replied amiably, and he took her hands from her face, but Philippa kept her eyes tightly shut. “Why are your eyes shut?” he asked.

“Because you are naked, my lord,” she told him. “It isn’t proper that we see one another naked. God gave us garments to clothe our shame, the church teaches.”

“I cannot make love to you, Philippa, if you are clothed,” he said reasonably, “and if we are to follow the teaching of the church to procreate then we must be naked, I fear.” He was close to laughing, but he did not. Damn Spanish Kate and her over-pious ways. No wonder the king hadn’t managed to get a healthy son on her. How could someone so intent on her immortal soul enjoy her earthly body? And without enjoyment it was all for naught. How long had Philippa been with her? Almost four years? Well, he could not in a single night undo all of the queen’s foolishness, but he was going to make a very good try at it. “Open your eyes at once, little one!” he commanded her. “I am your husband, and I will be obeyed!”

The hazel eyes flew open, startled by the tone of his voice. They found a place just over his shoulder upon which to fixate. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered. Her cheeks were very pink, and her youthful form leaned away from him.

He yanked her hard against him.

“Oh!” She struggled, but he would not give way, and Philippa felt every inch of her husband’s lean hard body as it pressed against her. Her gaze met his.

“Now, Philippa,” he told her, “I intend caressing every inch of your delicious little body, and I intend that you caress me in return. We will kiss as well. And when our lustful natures have been well aroused, little one, then we shall come together as man and wife, and you will cease this prudish nonsense. The joining of two bodies can, with God’s blessing, produce offspring, but it can also offer pleasures unlike any you have ever known before, and that is good. I suspect the queen has never known those pleasures, and for that I am sorry. But you will know them!”

“The queen says a wife should say the rosary and pray without ceasing when her lord mounts her,” Philippa informed him primly.

“Not a bead, girl, or a prayer when we come together. The only noise I would hear from your lips should be cries of delight, and pleas for me not to cease. Do you understand, Philippa?” His big hands fondled her bottom, squeezing the twin halves.

Philippa started, surprised, and in an effort to escape those wicked hands pressed against him. But then her eyes widened with greater surprise. There was something hard pressing against her belly. “Oh!” she gasped, and tried to back away but he would not allow her to do so. “Crispin!” she pleaded, using his name.

“Aye?” he responded, his eyes dancing with merriment.

“Please,” she said softly.

“Please what?” he replied.

Suddenly a tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, you are cruel!” she told him.

His tongue reached out and licked the tear away. “Aye, but sometimes a man must be cruel to be kind,” he told her.

“I do not understand,” she said, and she was trembling now. His tongue on her cheek had been the most sensuous gesture she had ever experienced in all her life.

“Nay, you wouldn’t,” he answered. “Not yet, little one. But you will.” Then he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the waiting bed, where he gently deposited her.

Her eyes could no longer avoid him. He had an elegant body much like the statues in Lord Cambridge’s gardens. It was far more beautiful than his plain face. She cried out softly when that body covered hers.

He had seen the admiration in her gaze when she had looked at him, though her eyes had not lingered on his manhood at all. He was careful to position himself so that he did not crush her. Taking her face into his two hands he began to kiss her again. He was ready, but she was not, and he would harm her no more than was necessary to capture the prize of her virginity. His lips brushed over her lips and her face. To his delight she responded shyly, returning his kisses, her arms going about his neck once again. He rolled them so that he was now beneath her, and she atop him. She gave a little cry of surprise, but did not protest. He drew her forward until her breasts were within easy reach of his mouth. First he buried his face in the valley between those small fruits, and then, unable to restrain himself, he began to lick her nipples, first one, and then the other, back and forth until she was moaning so softly that at first he wasn’t even certain the sound was coming from her. His mouth closed over one of those tempting nubs. He suckled hard, and she cried out, but the sound was neither of fear nor distaste. When he had taken all he could from the first nipple he moved to the second, drawing on it with pleasure, taking delight in her as her head moved back and forth, the auburn hair tumbling about her.

“This cannot be right,” she gasped.

His teeth grazed the nipple teasingly.

“Oh, Crispin!” But she did not ask him to cease.

He rolled again, and she was beneath him once more. He began to bathe her body with his fleshy tongue. First her round little breasts, then her throat, and he felt the pulse leaping beneath his caresses. He rained kisses from her shoulders to her hands, each in its turn, and sucked suggestively upon her fingers. His tongue then foraged its way across her shapely torso. He kissed the small mound of her belly, considering carefully his next move. He wanted to taste the virgin nectar of her, but she was much too innocent for so powerful a passion yet. Instead he moved to lie next to her, cuddling her, while his hand explored her further, brushing across the curls on her mons, pressing a finger between her moist nether lips.

“Oh, you mustn’t,” she cried weakly when he did.

“Aye, I must,” he told her. He found her sensitive little jewel and began to worry it, gently at first, and then more insistently.

“Oh! Oh!” Philippa half sobbed. What was he doing? And why did it feel so ... so ... absolutely wonderful? This could not be right. The joining was for procreation, but then a small part of her reason deliberated that they had not yet been joined. She shivered with the small wave of pleasure that washed over her, not realizing at first that he had pushed a single finger into her love channel.

God’s nightshirt, the earl silently swore to himself, she was very tight. And his finger quickly found her maidenhead. It was fully intact, proving her innocence. He moved the finger within her, and suddenly aware, Philippa cried out.

“No!”

“Aye, little one, ’tis time,” he said, and he mounted her quickly, pulling her resistant thighs apart and positioning himself for the attack. He had been ready almost from the moment he had entered their bedchamber. He was hard as rock, and he could feel his member throbbing with its eagerness to do battle. He began to move forward.

“No!” Philippa cried again. “No!”

He gently restrained her as his manhood pushed past her nether lips and into the entry of her love sheath. Despite her protests she was very wet with her budding desire. Slowly, slowly. His knob pushed into her, the ring of intimate flesh closing tightly about him as he moved his length forward, pressing deeper and deeper until he was met by the barrier of her maidenhood. He stopped.

“I cannot bear it,” she sobbed. “You are too big. You will tear me asunder!”

There was nothing he could say, he knew, that would soothe her. He must take her virginity quickly. He thrust hard, and the tiny shield of flesh gave way before him.

Philippa shrieked, more with surprise than pain. His manhood filled her full. She had never imagined such a feeling. He was moving in her now, his mumbled words attempting to soothe her, his own passions rising to obscure his reason. Suddenly she relaxed, and gave herself over to his desire. She didn’t know what had prompted her to let go of control over herself, but she did. And when she did, her eyes closing, her entire being was suffused with a pleasure such as she had never known. His grip on her had loosened, and unable to help herself she began to caress the big lanky body laboring over her.

“Wrap your legs about me, little one!” He grated out the order in harsh tones.

Philippa obeyed, and felt him driving deeper into her body. She cried out softly with surprise. “Ohhh, Crispin!” she sighed, and she wondered what in the name of all the saints had she ever been fearful of? This was heaven on earth! This was divine! And this was how children were created? She sighed again, and then felt a shuddering beginning from deep within her. It rose up, enveloping her fiercely, and she cried out in fear at this new sensation, but then the warmth swept over her. She felt a rush of hot fluid filling her love sheath, and the earl gave a great groan that was half pleasure and half relief. Then he rolled away from her, but as he did he pulled her into his embrace, kissing her face, her lips, her eyes.

“Little one, little one,” he finally managed to say to her. “I thank you for the gift of your innocence, and the pleasure that you gave me. I can only hope I gave you some pleasure as well, though I think I did.”

“I forgot to pray, my lord,” Philippa said. “I could think of nothing, it seems, when you were making love to me. I think I will not ever tell the queen of my lapse.”

The earl of Witton burst out laughing. “Madame, I forbid you to ever pray while I labor over you. Passion is for pleasure, not piety. God help the poor queen who has never known that.”

“You hurt me in the beginning,” she said.

“The breaking of the maidenhead is said to hurt, I am told,” he replied. “Did no one tell you that? But then they would not have, for fear of frightening you.”

“But after, it was wonderful. I seemed to be on another plane. I flew, my lord, I will vow that I flew!” she said. “How often will we couple like that?”

“Whenever desire overtakes us, little one,” he promised her, “but for now I would have us sleep. Tomorrow we start for Brierewode, and in a few weeks we must depart for France. I want you to see your new home before we do. It has been a long day, Philippa. You must rest now. I will be by your side to keep you safe. I do not believe in the nonsense some practice of a husband and wife sleeping in different chambers, and only coming together for the pleasure. From this night on I shall sleep by your side.”

“I am glad,” she told him. “My parents always shared a bed, and mama and my stepfather do as well. I am not unhappy with your decision, my lord.”

She drew the down coverlet up to cover them both. There seemed no point to getting out of bed to fetch their chemises. She tucked the coverlet about his shoulders, and he was charmed by this sweet sign of her nurturing nature. He was beginning to suspect that he had made a good bargain with Lord Cambridge, and he also suspected that Thomas Bolton had known it. He drew Philippa closer, and she laid her auburn head on his shoulder. They slept.

In the early dawn the earl of Witton awoke. His bride was still cuddled next to him. He studied her carefully, realizing that she was quite a pretty creature. Her skin was very fair, and her auburn hair had golden lights in it, unlike her sister Banon, whose tresses were a deeper auburn in color. Just looking at her aroused him, and he was surprised by it, but then of course she was a new sensation for him. Nay, that was not it. He had never been so roused by any woman. He ran a gentle hand down the curve of her body as she lay on her side by him.

Philippa opened her eyes, startled, and then she remembered where she was. Her eyes met his, and she blushed at the intimacy that surrounded them. She was not used to it, but she supposed in time she would be. She gave him a small smile. He said nothing, pushing her onto her back and mounting her. For some reason it seemed right, and she was to her surprise eager for them to couple again. She slid her arms about him, drawing him down into an embrace as he pushed himself slowly into her eager body. “Ahh, that is good,” she told him softly.

“Tell me what it feels like when I am inside of you,” he said low.

“It is difficult to explain,” she began. “I find I already enjoy the feel of you as you enter my love channel. You fill me, and I feel myself wanting to draw you in further. I want to enclose my flesh about your manhood. I never want to let it go. I lose my identity as we become one, my lord.”

“I feel powerful when our bodies are joined,” he admitted to her. “I am the aggressor, and yet somehow you control me, Philippa. Ah, little one, to be inside you I find unbearably sweet,” he said. And then he began to kiss her mouth.

He kissed her until Philippa’s head was spinning. The sensation of his lips on her, his manhood inside her, was almost too incredible to bear. He filled her and his member throbbed, beating against the walls of her love channel until she was moaning with her eagerness to be totally possessed. “Do it!” she begged him. “Do it, and do not stop!”

He moved slowly within her, increasing his tempo and rhythm until Philippa’s head was thrashing wildly on the pillows. The sight of her desire for him was almost unbearable. He thrust harder and deeper until she began to scream softly with her pleasure.

Philippa wrapped her legs about him, allowing him deeper access. It was incredible, and she now understood her mother better, she thought, than she ever had before. Her head was spinning, and yet she still managed some control over herself as the pleasure began to burgeon and grow until she knew she was going to die, and she didn’t care. Only the desire counted for anything. Her body began to shake from the inside out. She was dying! “Crispin!” she cried his name. “Crispin!” And then her consciousness was sucked down into a whirling dark vortex of heated pleasures.

He heard her crying his name as she clung to him, but he could only concentrate on the emotions battering him. He could feel himself swelling and growing within her until it was almost unbearable and painful. But then suddenly his member released its hot tribute in spurt after spurt after spurt of his love juices. For a moment he thought that his juices would never stop coming. Would his young bride always have this wickedly lustful effect upon him? God’s boots, he hoped so, even if in the end it killed him!

They slept again, this time exhausted, sprawled upon the bed, their limbs intertwined, leg with leg. And when they finally awoke the sun was just coming up. Outside in the gardens the birds were singing a May song.

Philippa had awakened first this time. She extricated herself carefully from the tangle of their limbs, her eyes studying her husband, blushing at the memories of their recent passion. He had such a strong and vibrant body. Her gaze went to his manhood, and she was amazed to find it limp, and surprisingly small now considering its earlier state.

“You have only worn it out for now, but it will recover,” she heard him say. His eyes remained closed, however.

“Oh!” She blushed at being caught in her perusal. “I have never seen a man’s body until now,” she weakly explained to him.

He chuckled, and now the gray eyes slowly opened. “I hope it is all that you expected,” he said.

“I didn’t know quite what to expect, my lord, but I cannot say that I am disappointed in what I have found,” Philippa told him.

“Another night I will teach you to fondle it, for it enjoys the touch of a woman’s hand, little one, but for now we must arise, although I am tempted to stay abed when I see those adorable little breasts of yours so prettily displayed.”

She drew the coverlet up to cover herself, mischievously sticking her tongue out at him. “I have removed the temptation, my lord,” she told him.

He grinned. “Only my desire to take you to Brierewode before we leave for France prevents me from spending the day here in bed with you, madame,” he explained. “You have proven a most satisfactory armful, Philippa, my lady countess of Witton.”

“And you, my lord, have allayed all of my fears of the marriage bed,” she replied. She slipped from the bed and, finding her chemise, drew it on. Then opening the door to the dayroom she called, “Lucy! His lordship and I will have a bath now.”

Lucy jumped from the chair where she had been sitting awaiting her mistress’s call. She had not dared to enter the bridal chamber this morning. “At once, my lady. Where shall I have them set it up? Out here?”

“Aye, ’tis best. Is the fire hot?” Philippa asked her serving woman.

“Aye, ’tis blazing and very warm,” Lucy replied.

Philippa turned back into the bedchamber. “We shall bathe this morning, for we shall not have the opportunity along the road. Here is something you must learn about me. Unlike so many at court I bathe regularly, and not just once or twice a year. I should like you to bathe with me this morning, my lord.”

“ ’Tis not a habit I find distasteful, madame,” he answered her. “I will be pleased to share your bath.”

“I shared with Banon yesterday, but usually I bathe alone,” Philippa explained. “Please be as modest as you can before my tiring woman, my lord.”

It took some time, but the tub was eventually ready for them. Lucy waited in the dayroom for her mistress and her new master. She had already asked the earl’s valet to lay out fresh clothing for his master in the little chamber next to the bedchamber where Philippa had once slept as a girl. The man moved briskly through the dayroom as the newlyweds washed each other in the large tub. Lucy busied herself in the bedchamber, taking the sheet with the bloodied evidence of her mistress’s virtue off the bed, and setting it aside for Lord Cambridge’s view. Then she laid out clothing for Philippa. The trunks were already packed, although Philippa would leave all of her court clothing in London where it . would be ready when they returned on their way to Dover. Lucy smiled as she heard Philippa giggle, and the earl’s guffaw of laughter. The wedding night had obviously gone well, and she was glad for her mistress’s sake that it had.

“How long will it take us to reach Brierewode?” Philippa asked the earl as they bathed in their tub by the fire.

“Several days. Lord Cambridge and I arranged the trip together. We will go by barge to Henley and then ride cross-country to Cholsey where we will take the river as far as Oxford. From there we will ride. It is probably quicker to ride all the way, but I wanted us to have time alone, little one. I hope you are not unhappy with my plans.”

“It sounds most romantic, my lord,” she told him. “I have never been up the river so far. And it is May. Everything will be coming into bloom.”

Finished bathing, they each joined their servants and dressed. Philippa’s gown of deep blue light velvet had a filled-in neckline with a little wing collar of linen. The sleeves were fitted from shoulder to elbow and had a ruffled linen cuff. The skirt was of one piece with a cord and chain belt from which hung a pomander case. It was the perfect traveling gown, and she would wear it each day. The earl wore a deep blue coat which was pleated from a high yoke and had a velvet collar and lining. It hung to his ankles. His shoes were embroidered.

Descending to the hall they ate a hearty meal of oat stirabout, sharing a bread trencher from which they dipped the cereal. There was ham, hard-boiled eggs, butter, cheese, and Philippa’s favorite cherry jam for the cottage loaf. Remembering Lucy’s warning of yesterday about morning ale and the bloat, Philippa drank watered wine as she had when she was a child. When they had finished eating they prepared to embark on the river.

“His lordship’s man and I will meet you and the earl at the inn where you will be spending the night,” Lucy said.

“You aren’t coming with us?” Philippa was surprised.

“No room for a tiring woman and a middle-aged valet on a honeymoon voyage,” Lucy chuckled. “There’s a basket of food for your midday repast, and the oarsmen have food as well. You’ll be fine, my lady.”

“Come along, little one,” the earl called to his bride, and he took Philippa’s hand in his to lead her from the house and down through the garden to the riverside stairs, down to the quay where their barge awaited them.

It was a fair day, a perfect first of May.

“They will already be dancing at court,” Philippa noted with a smile.

“Are you sorry not to be there?” he asked her.

“I should like to be there,” she admitted, “but only if we might be together, Crispin.”

He chuckled. “Lord Cambridge is correct when he says you are a perfect courtier, and I might add that you have a diplomat’s tongue, Philippa, and I should certainly know that, having been in his majesty’s diplomatic service.” He helped his wife down into the beautiful little barge that Thomas Bolton had had made for his cousin, Rosamund, many years before.

It was a pretty little vessel with a cabin containing a bench upholstered in sky blue velvet. There were glass windows that could be lowered on either side of the bench, which was hollowed beneath so braziers of coals could be set there in the winter months. Outside and behind the cabin on the open deck were two upholstered oak chairs, with arms, beneath a blue and gold striped awning. In front of the cabin the two oarsmen sat in a recess in the deck, ready and waiting for their orders. The earl seated his wife in one of the chairs beneath the awning, and sitting next to her called to the oarsmen that they were ready. The barge pulled away from the quay belonging to Bolton House.

The tide was with them, and the barge moved smoothly up the river. Philippa gazed fascinated at the river traffic as it passed them on its way down into London. There were barges carrying early farm produce and flowers. Some barges carried livestock, and others, building materials. Eventually, however, they had the river to themselves. They passed farms, meadows, and small villages. Here and again as the river narrowed their barge glided beneath a bridge. There were waterfowl nesting in the reeds and marshes along the river’s edge. There were even several swan couples, with their cygnets swimming neatly in a row between their parents.

“It has been a long time since I have been in the countryside,” Philippa noted.

“You do not like the country,” he said.

“Nay, I do. I just need to be near enough to court that I may enjoy it as well. My mother’s Friarsgate is so very far from London that it takes forever to get back and forth. She never really liked the court. Her passion is for her estates,” Philippa explained. “And she and Uncle Thomas set up their cotters in a manufactory to weave the wool mama’s sheep produce. They decided it was foolish to send the wool to the Low Countries to be woven when it would provide work for the cotters in the winter. Our wool is exceedingly fine, especially a blue cloth that we do, and so it has been quite successful. They even regulate the amount of that blue the mercers in Carlisle and the European countries can have.”

“That is very clever,” the earl said. “They keep the demand high by keeping the supply low. Your mother, it would appear, is a very clever woman, Philippa.”

“Aye, she is,” Philippa agreed, “but you can understand, knowing me as you do, why I did not want the responsibility of Friarsgate.”

“You will find Brierewode a less complicated home, little one. You need only manage the household, and our children.”

“Not you, my lord?” she asked him mischievously.

He laughed. “I can see we will have a certain number of battles, madame, but you will learn to remember that I am the master of Brierewode, and there can be but one master.” Then he kissed the tip of her nose.

“My lord,” Philippa said, and her cheeks were flushed with irritation, “I will not be treated like a mindless little flibbertigibbet. I may not want the management of Friarsgate, but I am more useful than you would appear to realize. And I shall be the mistress of Brierewode. And I will be at court serving my mistress, Queen Katherine, for part of the year as well. The queen appreciates my value.”

“Your first duty is to produce an heir for me, Philippa,” he said. “Do not forget that, little one.” The gray eyes met her eyes.

“Are you going back on your promise to go to France, my lord? We are expected!” Philippa cried.

“And we will go. I do not give my word lightly,” the earl responded. Then he caressed her face gently. “I may have already put a babe in your belly, madame,” he told her, and he laughed softly when she blushed at his words. “You were a most receptive and very passionate little virgin, Philippa.” His lips brushed her forehead lightly.

“My lord! Do not speak of such intimacies aloud. We could be overheard by our bargemen,” she scolded him primly.

“Twice,” he reminded her in a low voice, “twice you drew my seed most eagerly into your hidden garden where babes are first created. God’s boots, just thinking about it makes me want you again, little one.”

“My lord!” Her eyes pleaded with him for caution.

“I could have you here,” he murmured, taking her hand and pressing it against his heated manhood which was covered by his long coat. “Perhaps later I shall set you upon my lap, slowly, slowly pull up your pretty skirts, and impale you on my lover’s lance. Then I should teach you to ride your eager stallion while I muffled your cries with my kisses, Philippa. Would you like that, madame?”

“My lord, you make me blush. Your bold words are shameful,” she said, but her hand did not pull away from his groin.

“When we get home I shall teach you to hold it and fondle it, little one,” he told her meaningfully. Then he put her hand back in her lap.

Philippa turned her eyes to the river again. Her heart was beating furiously. She felt hot all over, and the gentle breeze upon the river did nothing to cool her. She closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself, but all she could think of was her wedding night, and of the pleasure he had given her. She kept remembering what the queen had taught her maids. The coupling of a married couple was for the purpose of procreation, that more souls be born and baptized in Holy Mother Church. The queen had never said anything about pleasure, and Philippa wasn’t at all certain that she should be enjoying coupling with her husband as much as she had. Nor was she sure the seductive words he was whispering in her ear should be exciting her so. Or that she should be looking forward to being in his arms again, being possessed so completely by him. She started when he took her hand up again, her eyes flying open to look at him.

He kissed her hand, and each finger on it in its turn, and then her palm. “Do not fret so, little one,” he told her. He had seen the play of emotions as they had raced across her lovely face. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.” Then still holding her little hand in his he turned his own gaze to the river they traveled.

Philippa closed her eyes again, realizing that she was tired. Her position at court allowed for little rest, and these last few weeks leading up to their wedding, and then last night. Aye, she was tired. But she was no longer afraid. She wished Banon were here so she could tell her. But Banon would know soon enough that marriage, whatever God might have intended, promised to be wonderful if you were shackled with the right man.