Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 14

T he barge pulled near the shore of the river and anchored so they might eat. The two oarsmen carried the earl and his wife to the riverbank on their backs so they would not get wet. Then they returned to fetch the basket of food.

“Go out of sight of this place,” the earl ordered them. “I will call you when we are ready to resume our trip. You made excellent time. We shall be at the King’s Head by sunset. You have food?”

“Aye, milord. And our thanks. We’ll eat and rest a bit,” one of the oarsmen said. They both bowed, and then moved off upstream and into a stand of trees.

Philippa spread the cloth in her basket on the ground and sat down, her skirts blossoming about her. “Come, my lord, and eat,” she invited him.

In the basket they found meat pastries baked this morning, wrapped in a linen cloth, and still warm. There were pieces of roasted capon, bread, cheese, and a small pottery crock filled with strawberries, along with sugar wafers. There was a stone bottle, and uncorking it they discovered it was filled with red wine. The air had grown warmer as they had traveled that morning. They ate, emptying the basket of its supplies.

“I think this is one of the nicest May Days I have ever had,” Philippa told her husband. “And this morning along the river was lovely.”

“We will pass Windsor this afternoon,” he told her.

“I don’t think I have ever seen it from the river,” Philippa answered him. “We used the river from Richmond to Greenwich, but I have never been above Bolton House until the other day. I quite like it.” She lay back upon the grass, with a contented sigh.

With a smile he lay next to her, taking her hand in his. “I will be honest with you, Philippa. Traveling by barge was Lord Cambridge’s idea. He said if the weather was fine we should do it. He said it was romantic, and less troublesome than being in a coach or riding. I was not enthusiastic, but I agreed to go along with his idea. Now I am glad that I did. It is a fine way to spend May Day.” Raising himself up on an elbow he looked down into her face, and then he kissed her.

“Crispin,” she murmured against his mouth, “the oarsmen.”

He raised his ash brown head, and smiled wickedly at her. “Why do you think I sent them out of sight, Philippa? They understood my instructions, and the reasons behind them. Now do not fuss at me, my prim little bride. I have every intention of making love to you in this treed glade. If you do not allow me to satisfy my lust for you here and now, then sometime this afternoon as we are rowed along, I shall have you as I earlier described, little one. The choice is yours to make.”

She could see in his gray eyes that there would be no bargaining with him. “I think you are very wicked, my lord. What if a shepherd or a milkmaid should come upon us, and catch us in flagrante delicto?”

He pushed her skirts up, and his palms slid over her milky thighs. “A man with his wife can hardly be called a sinner, madame,” he replied. “God’s boots, you are deliciously tempting, Philippa!” He kissed her hard, his tongue pressing past her lips.

Why did she feel so weak when he assaulted her senses like this? Her mouth opened to suck his tongue into her mouth. She was acutely aware of his fingers playing between her nether lips. Her breasts felt as if they would burst from her bodice, and she silently cursed the lacing up the back of her gown. He had found that sensitive little nub of flesh, and was now worrying it with a fingertip. Philippa moaned. “Crispin, that is really quite wicked of you. You must stop.”

“Why?” he asked low, and pushed two fingers into her love sheath.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Oh, that should not be so good!”

“Why?” he demanded a second time, and his body covered her, his manhood replacing his fingers as he pushed into her.

“Oh Holy Mother of God, it is too sweet, my lord!” She could feel every inch of him as he filled her. She felt his length. His thickness. His warmth.

“It’s good, isn’t it, Philippa?” he murmured softly, his tongue licking at her ear. “It’s very, very good. Tell me you want me even as I desire you, my little one.”

“Yes!” she sobbed. “Yes!” And then she cried out softly as he began to move upon her, slowly at first, and then more rapidly until they were both gasping with the pleasure the union of their two bodies was giving them.

Afterwards they dozed for a brief period, and then the earl arose, straightening his gown back into a semblance of order. Philippa opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She had never anticipated that this elegant and urbane man would be so passionate. She had never anticipated that she would be so passionate. Turning, he saw she was awake again, and reaching down he drew her up into his embrace, and kissed her gently.

“We must go now,” he said. “I will call the oarsmen.”

She nodded. “Is my attire neat?” she asked him.

He brushed her skirts, and then smiled at her. “You are perfect, madame.”

“Next time unlace my bodice, Crispin,” she told him. “I had difficulty breathing, I fear. Perhaps all my gowns should now lace in the front rather than the rear.”

“Perhaps they should,” he agreed with a grin. “I missed those adorable little fruits that you possess, Philippa. Tonight I shall apologize to them for my neglect.”

“I will not couple with you in a public inn!” she declared indignantly.

“On a riverbank, but not an inn?” he teased her.

“People might hear us,” she said.

He laughed. “We will see the accommodation we are given,” the earl told her.

“Even the best accommodation will not guarantee us enough privacy, and we are fortunate not to be coming down from the north,” she replied. “Uncle Thomas and I stayed mostly at convent and monastery guesthouses where the sexes are separated.”

“I should not like that,” he responded, and now it was Philippa who laughed.

She gathered up the cloth, folding and tucking it in their basket. There was no food, for they had eaten everything that had been packed for them. The earl sought out their two oarsmen. They were once again carried upon their servants’ backs to the barge, and settling themselves, they sat back to enjoy the river views as they once again got under way.

They passed the great castle of Windsor, its towers and battlements soaring over the Thames. It had always looked large to Philippa but from her vantage on the river it looked huge and almost forbidding. She thought of the autumn hunting parties she had joined as the queen’s maid of honor. Their barge left Windsor behind, and to the east she could see the Chiltern Hills of Berkshire. They reached the King’s Head Inn shortly after sunset, but the sky would be light for several more hours to come with the spring twilight. Lucy and the earl’s valet, Peter, were awaiting them. Lord Cambridge had engaged an entire wing of the inn for the newlyweds. There was a large bedchamber for the earl and his bride, two small chambers for their servants, and a private dining room. The two oarsmen would be fed in the inn’s kitchens, and housed in the stables for the night.

“The dinner was pre-ordered by Lord Cambridge, milord,” Peter told his master.

“Have the innkeeper serve it then,” the earl said. “It has been a long day, and I can see her ladyship is anxious for her bed.”

“Yes, milord,” the valet answered politely,

Lucy had taken her mistress into the bedchamber, where she had a basin of water waiting so Philippa might wash herself. “The trip weren’t half bad,” she told her mistress. “That Peter of his lordship’s is a good fellow, and pleasant company. Was your river voyage a nice one, my lady?”

“You should have seen Windsor from the water,” Philippa told her. “It looked twice the size it looks riding up to it. I felt very tiny in our little barge. Everything is so different when you travel upon the river. How clever of Uncle Thomas to arrange it.” She bathed her face and hands, telling Lucy when she finished, “Go and get your supper now, lass. But come back to prepare me for bed.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Lucy replied, curtseying. And when she had escorted Philippa back into the dining chamber she hurried off, Peter in her wake.

The innkeeper himself arrived with three serving wenches struggling beneath the weight of three large trays. “Good evening, my lord, my lady. I am Master Summers, and I shall serve you myself.” He beamed effusively at them as the earl seated his bride.

He offered the earl a dish of cold fresh oysters, and Crispin St. Claire grinned to himself. Tom Bolton was hardly being subtle, he thought. Oysters for himself, and gazing across the table he watched his young wife eating fresh green asparagus in a lemony sauce, sucking the meat from the stalks and licking her lips enthusiastically.

“I adore asparagus!” Philippa enthused. “How kind of Lord Cambridge to remember it.” She had no idea how her innocent consumption was affecting her husband.

The trays now revealed a roast of beef from which the innkeeper carved several slices; a well-browned duck, its skin crisp and golden, in a sauce of orange and raisins; individual little pastries filled with minced venison and sweet onions cooked in butter; a platter of little lamb chops; a bowl of tiny carrots, and another bowl of small onions swimming in butter and cream that had been sprinkled with fresh dill. The innkeeper filled their plates. He poured a fragrant wine into their goblets. Lastly he took a fresh cottage loaf, still hot from the oven, and placed it between them with a large crock of butter.

“Your lordship will find an apple tartlet and clotted cream on the sideboard,” he told the earl as he bowed himself out of the room, shooing his serving girls before him. He shut the door with a firm click.

Crispin and Philippa burst out laughing.

“I see Uncle Thomas’s hand in this,” she giggled. “Poor Master Summers has been given most specific and careful instructions by him. I expect he visited in person to deliver his orders to this innkeeper.”

“Well, I shall not fault him, little one. The menu is perfect, and the food delicious,” the earl told her. “I can only hope each inn in which we stay is as good.”

“It will be,” Philippa replied. She knew Thomas Bolton well, and with each passing moment she realized she owed him a greater debt than she could ever repay him. And she was certainly enjoying the bedsport she and her husband shared. The earl was a kind man. She had to give him an heir as soon as she might. But first they would go to France for the glorious summer progress. In the autumn they would visit her mother, and then it would be back to court for the Christmas revels. They would spend the winter in Oxfordshire, but then it would be back to court for the month of May, a year from now. There simply wasn’t time for her to give Crispin an heir until the end of next year. She hoped he would understand.

Philippa Meredith did not have an important family, although she did now possess a title. But she had Queen Katherine’s friendship, a fact she knew drew the envy of other women and girls from families of greater significance. Philippa’s loyalty to the queen was as great as her mother’s had been. She would serve Katherine of Aragon as long as the queen asked it of her. This was something she was not certain her husband fully comprehended yet. She prayed silently that she could make him understand. Women, after all, possessed their own personal honor too.

It was still light when they had finished their meal. Outside their windows they heard music, flutes, and drums and cymbals. Going to the window they saw a Maypole had been set up on the village green, and the dancers were even now assembling. Philippa looked at her husband questioningly, and he nodded. There was a door leading to the outside in the corridor outside their apartments. Hand in hand they strolled out to watch the girls and boys dancing around the Maypole, weaving the colored ribbons about the tall pole as they pranced and capered. It was a perfect ending to the day.

He made love to her again that night, cajoling her with the fact their rooms were at the far end of the inn. He was tender and gentle, as he had previously been. In the morning after breakfast they once again embarked, traveling as far as Henley that afternoon. The Queen’s Arms was as fine an establishment as the King’s Head had been. They were housed in another large and private apartment. The food was excellent. They made love in the night as they had the previous night. And in the morning they left the barge to ride across the countryside to the village of Cholsey. The day was sunny, and all around them the woods and fields were burgeoning with new green growth.

The next day the earl gifted Lord Cambridge’s two bargemen and sent them back down the river. They had so enjoyed the ride the day before that they decided to go on to Oxford by horseback rather than spending another day on the river. Philippa had been to Oxford once before, with the queen when they had traveled to Woodstock. She found the hustle and bustle of the town invigorating, and preferred it to London. The inn that Lord Cambridge had chosen was on the edge of the city on the road they would take tomorrow to Brierewode.

“We can reach it if we leave just at first light,” the earl told Philippa.

“I can be ready,” she promised. “I can see how anxious you are to be there, my lord. And I am curious to see my new home.”

“You will love it,” he promised her.

She smiled, but she thought it is just another country house. It is not court. I shall be quickly bored, but then in just a few weeks we will rejoin the king and queen.

The following morning was gray and cloudy, the first dull day since their wedding on April thirtieth. But it was not raining. They departed Oxford in a dim half-light. They had been met at Henley by a troop of hired men-at-arms who had accompanied them ever since. Behind them Lucy and Peter followed upon their own mounts, riding next to the vehicle carrying the bride’s possessions. The innkeeper at the Saracen’s Head in Oxford had seen them off with a hamper of food for their ride. They stopped only briefly, more to rest the horses than themselves, and quickly ate. Then they were on the road again.

In late afternoon the earl called to Philippa over the noise of the horses’ hooves. “We are almost there, little one. Look up ahead. It is my village of Wittonsby. You can see the church steeple.”

“What is the river we ride along?” she asked him.

“The Windrush,” he answered. “You can see it from the house, and around the next bend you will see Brierewode up there on the hillside.” He was smiling.

As they rounded the curve in the road Philippa gazed up, and there was a beautiful gabled gray stone house with several tall chimneys. It did not look at all grand, and she found she was very relieved. She was not certain she could have managed a sumptuous dwelling. “It’s lovely,” she told him, smiling back.

In the meadows along the river there were cattle grazing. The fields they passed were newly tilled, the rich brown earth smooth and ready for planting. The workers in the fields looked up as they passed by. Recognizing their master a shout went up, and they waved enthusiastically as he rode on. Crispin St. Claire waved back. Philippa could see right away that her husband was well liked by his people.

The village was set along the riverbank, which was lined with ancient willows. The stone cottages were neatly kept, from their thatched roofs to their little front door gardens. There was a fountain in the village square across from the steepled stone church, and it was here they stopped. The earl’s tenants came from their houses and from their fields to greet him. The priest, alerted by one of the children, came forth from the church.

The earl held up his hand for silence, and was obeyed. “I have brought you a new countess,” he said. “Greet Lady Philippa, countess of Witton, who became my wife in Queen Katherine’s own chapel six days ago.”

The priest stepped forward and bowed. He was not a young man, but neither was he an old man. “Welcome home, my lord, and welcome to Wittonsby, my lady. May God bless your union with many children. I am Father Paul.”

A stocky ruddy-faced man stepped forward next. “Welcome home, milord,” he said with a small awkward bow. “I am relieved you were not gone for too long a time. Milady.” He pulled politely at his forelock in greeting. Then he turned to the crowd of villagers, and called out, “Let’s have three cheers for his lordship and his bride! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”And the others in the small square joined him.

“This is my bailiff, Bartholomew, little one,” the earl told Philippa. “He’s a good man, is Barto. My countess and I thank you all for your kind greetings,” he said to the crowd. Then with a wave of his hand the earl led his party from the village square, and up the treed hill to the house known as Brierewode.

The earl’s majordomo was awaiting them as they rode up to the house, and there were stable boys to take their horses as they dismounted. “Welcome home, milord, my lady,” the majordomo said, bowing. “Shall I see to the men-at-arms?”

“Aye,” the earl responded. “Feed them, house them, and in the morning have Robert pay them for their service.” He turned to Philippa, and surprised her by picking her up in his strong arms and carrying her across the open threshold of the house, depositing her gently in the hallway. “Old custom,” he said with a grin.

“I know,” she said, laughing. “But I had forgotten.” She looked about her. “Show me everything, Crispin. I cannot rest until I see it all.”

Now he laughed. “Are you not tired with all our traveling, little one?”

“Aye, but this is to be my home, and my curiosity is outweighing my exhaustion,” she told him. “First, the hall!” And she took him by the hand, looking questioningly.

The hall of Brierewode was paneled in a dark wood. Its ceiling soared, and from the carved and gilded beams hung colorful flags which, the earl explained to his wife, were the banners that his ancestors had carried into battle in England, Scotland, and the Holy Land. It was the oldest part of the house.

“We have always fought for God, king, and country, Philippa,” he told her.

There was a very large stone fireplace on one side of the hall. It was ablaze now, warming the room. Across from it were three tall arched glass windows that looked out over the river Windrush, which flowed through the valley below the hill upon which the house was situated. At the far end of the room was the high board, and behind it two high-backed chairs. There were several bed spaces in the walls of the chamber.

“It is a very old hall,” Philippa said, seeing them.

“The house has been here in one form or another for over three hundred years,” he replied. “We have made certain improvements over the years. The kitchens are now below us, and not in a separate building. There is an open shaft over there by the fire. Inside it is a platform that can be drawn up and down from kitchens to hall by means of a rope and pulley. That way the food arrives hot at table.”

“That is a most modern arrangement,” she said, surprised. Then, “What else is on this floor of the house, my lord?”

“There is a room where the bailiff, Robert, my secretary, and I discuss the business of Brierewode between us. And I have a library of books. Can you read?”

“Of course,” she told him proudly. “And I can write and do accounts, for it was expected that one day I would manage Friarsgate. My mother does not believe in allowing others to have so great a control over her fortune. My sisters and I can do all of these things, and we speak foreign languages as well. I came to court knowing French, and both church and spoken Latin as well as Greek. I have learned a little Italian and German at court. The Venetians are so charming, I have found. My mother’s portrait was painted by a Venetian once. It hangs in the hall at Friarsgate.”

The earl looked momentarily startled. There had been a portrait of a nymph in diaphanous garments with a single bared breast in the hall of the duke of San Lorenzo. He had admired it when he had gone to attempt to repair the damage Lord Howard, the king’s ambassador, had done. He had seen it only once, for he had been received by the duke only once. Thinking back, he realized it bore a startling resemblance to his wife. He would have to learn one day why that was. It was not Philippa, he knew. She had not that sensual look about her yet. It had been the look of a woman well loved, and in love. He must remember to ask Thomas Bolton about it when they next met.

“May I use your library?” Philippa asked him.

“Of course!”

“Show me more now,” she demanded.

“There is little more to see other than the bedchambers, and the attics where the servants sleep, little one. Would you not enjoy exploring them yourself one day when I am about my business in the fields?”

“Aye, I suppose I should. It will keep me from being bored,” she told him.

“Milord, welcome home.” A tall, large-boned woman had entered the hall. She curtseyed to them politely, and then she said, “Your ladyship, I am Marian. I have the honor to be the housekeeper here at Brierewode, and I am at your service.” She handed a ring of keys to Philippa. “You will want these,” she said.

“Keep them for me, Marian,” Philippa said warmly. “I am the stranger here, and I will need you to guide my steps until I am more comfortable. And I shall be at court much of the time, for I am in the service of our good queen.”

The housekeeper’s head nodded. “Thank you for your trust in me, my lady.”

“If my husband trusts you then so do I,” Philippa responded. “I have brought my tiring woman with me. She is to have her own chamber, a small one, but hers nonetheless, and it should be near mine. Her name is Lucy, and she is no London slut, but a lass from my own home in Cumbria.”

“I will see to it, my lady,” Marian said. “May I show you your apartment now?”

“Go along,” the earl encouraged his wife. “I must speak with Barto and Robert before the day ends.” He kissed Philippa on her lips, and then went off.

“You are in service to Queen Katherine?” Marian sounded impressed by this knowledge. She led Philippa from the hall and up a wide flight of stairs.

Philippa noticed that the banisters were beautifully carved, even on the edges of the handrails. “My mother was a friend of the queen from the days before she wed with King Henry. I have been in her service since I was twelve years of age. I am now sixteen. The earl and I are invited to join the summer progress to France when our king and the French king will meet. I will remain with my mistress until she no longer requires my services. It is an honor to serve her. She is the kindest of ladies.”

“We are fortunate in our queen, yet the king has no heir,” Marian said.

“Princess Mary will rule us one day,” Philippa replied.

“Mayhap the queen will yet bear a living son,” Marian responded hopefully.

Philippa shook her head. “Alas, there is no hope of that now, I fear, unless God grants England a miracle.”

Marian stopped before a pair of double doors, and flung them open. “These are your apartments, my lady,” she said, ushering the young countess inside.

Lucy was already there, and she hurried forward, stopping to curtsey to her mistress. “It’s lovely, my lady!” she burst out. “We will be so happy here, I know.”

Philippa laughed. “When we are not at court, Lucy, I’m sure we will. Have you been properly presented to Mistress Marian, the housekeeper, yet?”

Lucy nodded politely. “Mistress,” she said.

The older woman smiled. “Lucy,” she replied, “if you feel you can leave your lady for a brief time, I shall take you and introduce you to the rest of the staff. You have traveled with Peter, my lord’s valet. He is my brother. He has already said you are a mannerly lass, with no high London ways about you.”

“My lady?” Lucy looked to Philippa.

“Go along,” Philippa said with a nod. “I shall explore while you are gone.”

“I realize you will not have had time for a proper meal today, my lady, but we did not know when to expect the earl home. The supper will be simple,” Marian told her new mistress.

“We are both tired from our travels, Marian, and more anxious for rest. Whatever you have prepared will do us tonight. Tomorrow we will discuss food. You will tell me what pleases the earl, and I will tell you what I like best.”

“Very good, my lady,” Marion said with a bow, and then together she and Lucy departed Philippa’s company.

The new countess of Witton looked about her. She was in a paneled dayroom. There was a single fireplace even now blazing to take the damp off the May afternoon. The floors were almost black with age, but they were clean. There were three casement windows that overlooked part of the gardens. The furniture was oak. A rectangular table with twisted legs stood before the window. Upon it was an earthenware bowl of potpourri. There was a matching table in the center of the room with a second bowl of fragrance, and two heavy silver candlesticks. Before the fire were two high-backed chairs with woven cane backs and upholstered cushions. There was a small woven rug between the chairs before the fire. To Philippa’s surprise there was a gray tabby curled up directly in the center of the rug. She laughed softly, but the beastie never even twitched an ear.

Philippa now opened a door on one side of the fireplace and stepped into the adjoining room. There was another fireplace that backed up on the one in the dayroom. The walls in this chamber were also paneled in light wood. The windows here, however, looked out over the river as well as the garden. They were hung with natural-colored linen and deep green velvet brocade draperies. There was a wooden settle to one side of the fireplace. It had a tapestried cushion. A table was set before the windows. A large wooden chest stood at the foot of the bed, which was draped with deep green velvet curtains hung from old brass rings. The bed was more than spacious. Indeed it was a very large bed. It had a linenfold headboard, and heavy twisted bedposts that held up its wood-paneled canopy. There was a small table on one side of the bed.

The furnishings in both rooms were old-fashioned, Philippa thought. Much like the furnishings at Friarsgate and Claven’s Carn. It was a country house, and country people did not concern themselves with the latest styles in furniture. Any item in a household that remained sturdy and serviceable stayed in its place forever. She smiled to herself. Had she but traded one country house for another? Nay. At least Brierewode was within easy traveling distance of the court. They had spent several days drifting on the river, but Philippa suspected that if they had ridden straight through they would have cut their travel time by half. She opened another door on one side of the room. It was obviously a garderobe where her clothing could be stored, for she saw her husband’s clothing there.

With Mistress Marian in her place as the longtime housekeeper it would be an easy establishment to run when they were here. She wondered if her husband would come to court with her all the time, or if he would choose to spend his time in Oxfordshire. She had decided that she liked Crispin St. Claire. He was intelligent, and he was witty. And she certainly enjoyed their bedsport. It did not matter that he was plain of face. She wondered what their children would look like. Philippa knew she was a very pretty girl. At least if their daughters resembled her, she thought.

Daughters. Sons. Just how many children did he want? Would she have? Her mother had borne eight babes, of which seven had lived. Would she have any more? She knew her mother well enough to know that it would be Rosamund who made that decision, and not her stepfather, Logan Hepburn. How did a woman make decisions like that? This was the disadvantage of marrying without her mother. But come the autumn when they met again she would ask Rosamund what to do. And Philippa knew that her mother would offer her knowledge to her eldest child.

She sat down on the settle by the warm fire, and before she knew it Philippa had fallen asleep. Lucy awakened her gently when she returned. Philippa yawned and stretched.

“I do not think I can even eat my supper,” she told her tiring woman.

Lucy nodded. “I’m fair worn out myself, my lady. Let me get you out of your gown and into a fresh night chemise.” She began to unlace Philippa’s bodice. “ ’Tis a very nice house into which we have come, my lady. The other servants are friendly and pleasant. Much like our Friarsgate folk. We won’t be unhappy here.” She worked briskly, divesting her mistress of her garments. “You have to eat something,” she counseled Philippa. “There’s a nice rabbit stew bubbling down in the kitchens. I’ll bring you some water to wash the dust of the road off of you, and then go and fetch a nice bowl of it for you.”

“In the morning I want a proper bath,” Philippa said, yawning again.

“Of course you do,” Lucy said. “I found the tub before you arrived. It’s most satisfactory, my lady. Now you sit down while I get your basin of water.”

Philippa sat down in her chemise upon the bed. Then unable to help herself she lay back upon the coverlet. Her eyes closed, snapped open as she attempted to keep herself awake, and then closed again. Finding her dozing, Lucy set the brass washbasin in the warm ashes of the fireplace, and tiptoed out to go down to the kitchens. Passing the hall she saw the earl in conversation with the bailiff. She stopped, and walking up to her master, caught his eye.

“Yes, Lucy?” he asked her.

“Your pardon, my lord, but I thought you should know that her ladyship is exhausted from your travels, and will be having a bowl of stew in her chamber.” She curtseyed politely to him. “She cannot remain awake, poor lass.”

“I will go to her as soon as I can,” he said.

Lucy hurried off to get her mistress her supper. When she returned with a tray containing the stew, bread and butter, and a mug of cider, the earl was already there watching his wife sleep. Why, bless me! Lucy thought. He cares for her, or I am a gypsy whore. The look in his eye is tender. She set the tray down upon the table. Then going to Philippa’s side she gently shook her shoulder. “My lady, come and eat. You will feel better for it, I promise, and here is your good lord waiting for you.”

“Ummm,” Philippa said, and then she opened her eyes. “Crispin,” she said.

He smiled down at her. “Lucy is right, little one. A bit of food before you go to sleep again. Come,” and he took her hand. “I will sit with you. Lucy, bring the tray here, and your mistress will eat in bed.” He helped Philippa to sit up, propping pillows behind her back.

Lucy set the tray on her mistress’s lap, and then stepped back.

Philippa looked sleepily at the bowl of stew, and shook her head. It smelled delicious, but she did not think she could eat.

The earl took up the spoon from the bowl and began to feed his wife. She opened her mouth, accepted the food, and swallowed. He repeated his actions until the bowl was empty. At that point Philippa took up the piece of buttered bread and mopped the gravy from the bowl with it before popping it into her mouth. She sighed, and reached for the cider which she drank as if parched.

“I cannot believe how exhausted I am,” she told them.

“Your duties at court are tiring,” the earl said quietly. “I hope that once we have children you will consider foregoing the pleasures you seem to enjoy there.”

“I cannot simply dismiss my duties to the queen,” she told him. “I owe her my loyalty.”

“Lucy, remove the tray. I will call you when you are needed,” the earl said. Then when the tiring woman had left the room he said to Philippa, “You have been a maid of honor for four years, madame. You are now a married woman. Your place will be assigned to another very shortly.”

“We were invited to accompany the court to France,” she reminded him.

“The queen knew how much you wanted to go, little one, and she has rewarded your loyalty. But once the summer progress is over you must take up your role as the countess of Witton first. I want an heir, and it is your duty to give me one. No one knows the obligations of a wife better than Queen Katherine, and should you ask her she would counsel you thusly, Philippa.”

“You said you would let me remain with the court,” Philippa replied.

“I said we would go to court. If you are not with child, then we shall go twice a year. For the Christmas revels, and for the month of May. I did not marry you because you were a maid of honor, little one.”

“Nay, you did not!” she snapped at him. “You married me for Melville’s lands.”

“Aye, your dowry was of consequence in the matter,” he agreed sanguinely.

Philippa glared angrily at him. “I could hate you!” she told him fiercely.

“Aye, I expect you could,” he admitted, “but I hope you will not, little one. I find I am becoming used to your company. I should be lonely without it now. Is it really so terrible, not being at court?” He took her hand and kissed the palm, and then each finger.

“From the time I was ten years old and first went to court it has been all I have ever wanted,” she told him.

“A girl’s dream,” he responded, “but you are now a woman, Philippa. Did you not dream of marriage and children, like other girls?”

“With Giles FitzHugh,” she said, “aye, but then he deserted me for the church.”

“And Lord Cambridge sought another husband for you, and by coincidence found me,” the earl reminded her. “You said you were willing, little one, and you have hardly been reticent in my arms at night, or in a willow glade by the Thames.”

“Should I not like our coupling then?” she demanded of him.

He chuckled. “Aye, you should like it, and I am well pleased that you do, Philippa, but part of the purpose of our bedsport is that you give me children. You cannot do that if you spend all your time at court, for I will not be with you. I will be here at Brierewode looking after my lands as I should.”

“You are beginning to sound like my mother,” she huffed at him.

“And you are beginning to sound like a spoiled child who will not accept the responsibilities that belong to her,” he said seriously.

“If you feel that way, then why don’t you just stay home while I go to France with the court?” she snapped. “You can husband your precious land then by yourself, for you surely do not need me for that.”

“Because you are my wife now, and you will not go to France if I am not accompanying you, Philippa,” he told her.

“Are you forbidding me to go?” she demanded, and he saw the light of battle in her hazel eyes.

“Nay, I am not, for I know how much it means to you, and I believe this meeting between King Henry and King Francois will be an amazing event that we will want to recount to our children one day.” He kissed her little hand again. “Come, little one, release your anger, and make peace with me now. We have many years ahead in which we can fight with one another.”

Philippa laughed in spite of herself. Her husband had great charm, and there was no denying it. “I will forgive you for upsetting me, Crispin,” she told him wickedly.

He chuckled. She would always want the upper hand, he realized in that moment, and it would be up to him to let her think she had it most of the time. “I will send Lucy back to you so you may prepare yourself for bed, little one,” he said. “I shall go down to the hall to eat now. You shall rest undisturbed tonight.” Then he arose from his place at her bedside and, bowing, left her.

Lucy came back a few moments afterwards, and fetching the brass basin from the warm ashes of the fire helped her mistress bathe, and then don a clean night chemise. The tiring woman tucked the countess of Witton into her bed, and bidding her good night, left her. Philippa was quickly asleep, but she did awaken briefly once in the night to feel her husband’s comfortable bulk against her back. It was, she decided before she fell back asleep, a very good sensation.