Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03 (11 page)

Aroused anew at the memory, he drew his wife’s
—
his wife’s
—body closer to him. He would gather her into himself if ’twere possible. More precious than anything else in God’s universe.

A brush of his loins against hers brought a low moan from Alyse and an eager bobbing from his all too ready shaft.
’Twas time to make good on his promise.

Carefully, he untangled his arms from
his sleeping wife and eased her onto her back. He grabbed an item from the remains of their wedding feast. Could something so innocent spark wanton play between them?

There is but
one way to find out.

Some time later, as he nuzzled her breast, Alyse stirred. Her eyes still closed, she stretched
lazily.

“Mmmm, that feels wonderful, my love.” She arched, pushing her breast toward him. Then opened her eyes and frowned. “Is it morning so soon, Geoffrey? Has the night truly flown?”

“Nay, love, ’tis scarce midnight.” He left her nipple in search of her mouth. “Our time together this night is yet a fledgling, our love play but begun.” He sealed that promise with a kiss. Lord, she was sweet enough without…

“
Mmm, you taste good, my lord. What have you been eating?”

“You
, my love.”

“Me?”
She raised her head, frowning as she tried to discover the cause.

He grinned and made a big show of letting his gaze trail down to her
bosom and the remains of the golden liquid he had smeared over her breasts. One, however, showed only traces left. He had become too eager once he had begun to lick her sweet skin.

She stared first at her bedaubed body then at him. “What is that?”

“Honey, my sweet.”

She tilted her head
. “The honeyed pears from our feast?”

“The same.” He grinned, watching her closely. Would this suit her playful sense or no?

Dropping her head back on the pillow, she giggled, a delicious sound in his ears. “I suppose now I cannot even take my rest lest I awake to find a…a…pudding on my stomach.”

He chuckled
. “You are much tastier than a pudding, love.”

She squealed as he
dipped his head to lap at the other breast. He licked the golden swirls he had dribbled over her as she slept, savoring the sweetness of both honey and delicate flesh.

“
That tickles, Geoffrey.” She laughed and wiggled. “I will still be a sticky mess no matter how well you work there.”

“Then I must be more diligent, sweetheart.”
He applied his tongue vigorously to the honey.

“I say if one be a mess then
’twere best both were.” She stared at him, a new hunger in her eyes.

Visions
arose of her tongue licking honey from his chest, his stomach, his… His cock leaped, insistent once more.

Oh, let it be done
.

He grabbed Alyse by the arms and rolled them until he lay flat on the bed with her overtop of him.

“All right, madam.” He ran his finger down her breast, gathering some of the honey that still clung there then caught it with his tongue. “’Tis your turn.” He gestured to the opened jar of pears and stretched his arms wide. “I promise you, revenge will be sweet.”

She slipped her hand into the pot and grabbed one of the slices, dripping with the
sticky honey. What would be her first point of attack? He held his breath, quivering.

Her gaze shifted from his face to his chest. His pulse quickened. Would she give him measure for measure and…

She leaned over and plopped the slice of pear onto his right nipple.

The cool, sticky pear and the touch of her slender fingers sent a shudder of desire hurtling toward his heated shaft. Ah,
’twas torture of the sweetest kind.

Alyse continued to rub the pear all around, teasing his small nipple until it stood straight up, a hard knot
slathered with the golden sweet.

Leaning
her head back, she shook out her black hair so it fanned around her shoulders, her breasts peeking through the dark locks. She scooped the slice of fruit from his chest. Spellbound, he gazed at his wanton wife, who slowly lowered the slice of pear into her mouth. She chewed briefly, swallowed, and licked her lips.

“Ahhhh,
God take...” His oath trailed off into a groan as she sucked his nipple into her mouth. He twitched and shivered as she lapped and teased, circled and stroked, and finally nipped it with her teeth.

“God’s death, woman.” Geoffrey dragged her head up from his chest before he burst. “What are you doing to me?”

“Pleasuring you, my love. Do you not like such things?” The saucy gleam in her eyes belied her innocent question.

“I am tortured in my bed by my own wife.”

“And who else would you have a mind to do it?”

“Wench!”

She laughed, and reached into the honey pot again. This time her hand emerged merely dripping honey, and swiftly closed around his throbbing member.

“Alyse…oh, Christ.” Her hand would have been enough; the added spice of the thick honey forced him to
mind his cock and hold his desires in check. ’Twould not do to spend himself anywhere but inside her hot sheath. If he could but control himself so long.

She stroked him lightly, playing
her fingers over his pounding flesh. The honey made glistening trails down his shaft to pool at the base. Pleasure beyond his imaginings, but enough for now.

“Give leave a while, love.”

Her puzzled frown tugged at his heart. “You do not enjoy this, love?”

“Oh, aye, madam.
Forever more will pears be the most erotic of fruits to me.” He chuckled as he sat up and slid off the bed. “Another time and we will discover the further delights honey may bring.” He padded to the basin, grabbed a cloth. “I have different things in mind for us tonight.”

“Hmmm, what?” She licked her fingers
, and his groin ached anew.

Things
that will bring you more pleasure than ever before.” Swiftly, he wiped the sweetness from his engorged cock, keeping his gaze trained on her. “I will love you so well, sweetheart, you will pray that this night never ends.”

Her eyes widened, her fingers
still in her mouth.

He
grinned, took the cloth to the bed, and wiped her hand carefully. That was enough stickiness for now. Dropping the cloth to the floor with one hand, he pulled her to the edge of the bed with the other.

“Lie back, love.” He kissed her, the taste of honey filling his mouth. Slowly, he bent her back until she lay before him
. “You are so beautiful, Alyse.” He trailed his lips down her neck, breasts, belly. “And I want to taste every exquisite inch of you.”

She moaned and shifted her bottom as he set his tongue to her navel then trembled when it dipped lower to her dark curls.
He bent her knees and pushed her legs wide, revealing the hidden beauty of her.

“Oh, love.”
The sight swelled his cock, urged him to drive it home. Not yet. Not without another taste. He pressed his tongue against her opening, stroking up and down.

“Geoffrey. Ah…ahhh.”

A sweeter sound he could not ask for, though it made his need grow greater. He moved higher, to the nub that would bring her to pleasure, and swirled his tongue around it.

“Ohhhh.” Alyse grabbed his arms, her body shaking. “Ohhh, sweet lord.”

He stood quickly and plunged his almost bursting shaft into her. Immediately, her sheath gripped him, as she writhed in the throes of her passion. Her release spurred him on to drive deeper, harder, urgency possessing him as never before.

Mine. Only mine. At last.

One more thrust….

“Geoffrey, oh, Geoffrey.”

Her cry triggered his release.

“Alyse.” He shuddered, glorying in the spill of his seed inside her. Groaning and sated, he lay atop her, panting, still buried deep within her warmth.

When he could move again, he pulled away from her, then clambered into the bed and gathered her to him.

With a soft sigh
, she snuggled closer into his embrace, her head pillowed on his chest. Where she belonged until the end of time.

With a gasp
, she sat up, her hand shooting toward her head. “The honey!”

Her hair stuck to itself in clumps or straight out from her head, a clingy mess that was both wretched and
endearing.

Spent as he was, Geoffrey could not help but laugh at her woebegone expression, all frowns and puckered lips. “Do not fret
, my love.” With a swift kiss, he rose, poured water from the ewer, and washed his chest. “I will fetch the princess’s tub that you may wash and then sleep in comfort.”

“
Nay, ’twill have to do for now.” She sighed and ran her hand across her head, wincing. “I cannot wash my hair in the middle of the night. ’Twould never dry.”

“Here.” He
retrieved the cloth and soaped it. “Allow me to make amends, love.” He ran the cloth over her hand then down her arm and across her breasts. They were still streaked with honey where he had lain on her after spending himself. He should have thought to wash his chest, but his thoughts in that moment had been of other things.

Af
ter rinsing the rag, he wiped away the soap then plied it to the other breast. He circled the nipple to make sure no trace of the stickiness remained.

“Hmmm. That feels wonderful, love.” She stretched, extending her arm to him. “You always make me feel wonderful.”

“My sacred duty, my lady.” He slid the cloth along her other arm and washed her hand again. “May I always be at your service.” After another quick swish in the basin, he wrung it out and rubbed it over her belly, down to the place where he had so recently played. ’Twas sticky there too. He made short work of it.

She smiled and gazed up at him. “I love you, Geoffrey.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He tossed the cloth into the basin. “Better?”

She nodded
, so he blew out the candles, and settled back down in bed, her head once more pillowed on his chest. He would have to wash again in the morning. A trifling price to pay for the delight of holding her in his arms all night. Praise be, God had smiled upon them at last.

Chapter 12

“Do we leave today, Geoffrey?” Alyse stretched and bit into the last of the bread from their feast. The sun was high and breakfast late, for they had tarried in bed, a result of the fierce passion of the previous night. She was still tired, but relished that particular fatigue.

“Nay, my sweet, I have one or two days
’ work yet to safeguard the king’s property.” Geoffrey rose from the table. “Today I ride to Bordeaux once again to finish securing the ships and their cargo. ’Twill be a long day, I fear. You may not see me again ere nightfall.” He bent to kiss her farewell, but her hand stayed him.

“May I not ride with you
, Geoffrey? I like not the prospect of staying here all day alone, with only the silence.” She grabbed their plates and took them to the sideboard. “There is nothing to occupy my time, for there is no one to attend, no needlework to be done, no one…to talk to.”

He followed, took her hand
, and kissed it. “My dear, you need to ready us for our journey. We must be packed and have food enough to carry with us for many days, for we know not what lies ahead on the way to your father’s estate.”

They had changed their plans and now were to travel by horseback rather than carriage in hopes of making better time and avoiding disaster on the road. Neither knew what
was taking place in the world beyond Loremo—the pestilence might still rage. Or bands of raiders could be pillaging the unprotected countryside. Geoffrey had heard rumors of such the last time he had ventured to Bordeaux. This last menace filled Alyse with dread. An she stayed here alone, she would be virtually defenseless.

He searched her eyes and smoothed his thumb across her forehead. “I would not leave if I thought you would be in danger, my love. This manor is well away from the main roads. Likely no one will
risk coming here.”

“And if they do?” Her stomach churned to think what would happen if she was found alone.

“If someone approaches, the best defense will be to remove to our chamber and bar the door. If they know not of your presence, you will be safe. ’Tis a large house, and you can hide easily.” He kissed her and grasped his sword, sheathing it as he headed for the door.

“Please let me come, Geoffrey.”

He turned, his face set in grim lines. “I fear the pestilence more than any band of vagabonds, Alyse. And the sickness rages in Bordeaux yet. I would not have you catch this scourge because you came with me.”

Yet the fool would put himself in danger. “What if you catch the disease, Geoffrey? What then?” She had voiced her greatest fear. A lump rose in her throat
, and she blinked back tears. If he died….

He cupped her face and wiped her tears with his thumb. “Then you ride out yourself, my love. Take your chances on the road and never look back. Head for your father’s house near
Calais as we planned. You will be safe under his protection.”

“No. I could not—”

“My love, if I am dead—”

She
crossed herself with one hand and clamped her other hand over his mouth. “Do not say such a thing, Geoffrey Longford.”

He pulled her hand away. “You must admit the possibility, love, for you must have a plan if ours fails. Give me your oath that if I
die, you will ride out.”

“And if I say nay?” She pulled herself up to her full height and stared him down. “If you die, what reason more have I to live? If I lay dead, would you ride out?”

A shiver passed through his body, so violent it shook the hand that clasped hers. He stilled it, and when he met her eyes, shook his head. “Nay, Alyse, I would not ride were that the case. But, love, ’tis different with you. Even now you may carry my babe within you. That hope is worth everything, is it not?”

’
Twas true in its way, yet to contemplate life without him was to stare into the fiery pit of hell and pray to be consumed by it.

He gathered her close again and kissed the top of her head. “Come
, my love, send me off with a kiss to savor the day through that I might hurry home the quicker. I will finish the work today so that we may leave on the morrow.”

“Promise me?”

He touched her unruly hair, now a disheveled mess, and smiled. “Aye. I swear it. And ere I leave, I will keep my other promise and bring the princess’s tub for you, that you may begin the day refreshed. ’Twill give you something to do this morning and something else for me to look forward to tonight.” He kissed her once more and hurried for the western staircase.

* * * *

After Geoffrey had ridden off down the long avenue, the silence of the yard unnerved her. Not even a bird twittered in the heat that already baked the air. She marched toward the kitchen, determined to keep occupied during the lonely hours of his absence.

The first order of business was her bath. The honey had stuck her hair to her head in several places; in others it clumped together in strands that snaked out like Medusa. She
hefted the final two buckets of water then headed back to their chamber. Together she and Geoffrey had lugged six full buckets up the steps, before she deemed the water deep enough for her needs. These last two she could heat to take the chill off the water and use for rinsing after her bath.

Staring up the long flight of steps, Alyse sighed. She had tried to persuade Geoffrey to bring the tub to the kitchen, where carrying water would have been a less arduous task. He would have none of that. He deemed their chamber the safer place and would hear nothing further on the subject.

Mounting the staircase once more, she sorely regretted the loss of the servants. Having grown up in households where menial tasks were considered beneath her, she had always taken the servants who performed them for granted, as much as she did the air she breathed. So many things she would now have to do herself. The heat from outside surged in through the open window, making their room uncomfortably hot. So much so that lighting a fire to warm the last two buckets no longer appealed. Certainly cool water would be more refreshing. She set the buckets down beside the wooden tub lined with linen cloths then doffed gown and chemise.

Holding onto the sides of the tub, she eased one foot into the water. “Oooh, that
is cold.” Mayhap she should have heated the water after all. She wavered then, with a sigh, dipped her other foot in. “’Twill only be cold a short time.” She squatted, staring at the door as she lowered her bottom toward the chilly water.

“Merciful Lord.” The door remained unbarred.
Even after Geoffrey’s admonition about her safety, she had neglected to bolt it with the heavy crossbar. Anyone could come in and find her…

Alyse clambered out of the wooden tub so fast she almost pitched onto the floor. She scurried to the door, slid the bar home in its cradle, and raced back to the bathtub.
Now no one could enter. She glanced down at her naked breasts, bouncing slightly, and stopped her headlong flight. The door lay securely barred. Who was there to see? She could walk as slowly as she wished.

These are wicked thoughts, my lady
. Her good sense tried to assert itself.

So? Is it a sin to walk to your bath?
The voice of reason sounded soothing in her mind.
You could walk as slowly as though in a
pavanne
, showing yourself off regally, and no one would ever know
.

God would know
.

Alyse laughed and whirled around in the center of the room, arms outstretched. “God knows everything. Sees everything. So surely he has seen my body before.” She giggled when she tipped over and caught herself on the table. Enough of this fancy. She must get on with her bath.

Once more she stepped into the tub, squealing at the chilly water, but finally sitting cross-legged in it. She leaned her head back against the rim, letting the anxieties of the past few days ease out of her. In only a short time she was luxuriating in water that felt like silk to her skin. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.

Alyse came to with a start, her
limbs cramped and cold. She had fallen asleep, letting the cool water leech the warmth from her body. Shivering, she arose, gingerly putting weight on her feet as a prickly pain assailed her. How long had she slept? The light and shadows from the window said ’twas afternoon. Had she truly been asleep so long?

She stepped out of the tub, a mucky tendril of hair plastering itself to her face. God’s death. She had not even had the sense to wash her hair. Wearily
, she fetched the soap, bent over the tub, and dunked her head into the water, the cold water drawing a hiss from her as it shocked her scalp.

’
Twas colder than when she first climbed in the bath. Shaking, she lathered and rinsed her hair then dried it in a sheet. Her trembling increased. Mayhap if she crawled under the covers, they would warm her. She let the wet cloth drop and tottered across the room as it began to spin. She bumped into the bed and sprawled onto the coverlet.

Her shaking increased. It took all her strength to push the blanket aside and crawl under it. Rest. She needed to rest and wait for Geoffrey.

* * * *

Geoffrey took the stairs two at a time, impatience to be with Alyse speeding his feet. His duty to King Edward had been fulfilled
as best it could be. All he could do now was hope His Majesty’s ships still lay untouched at harbor in Bordeaux. The gates to the city had been closed to him when he arrived this morning. Great clouds of smoke drifted over the city walls, and it took him some time to find someone to explain.

The pestilence had scourged the townsfolk so thoroughly—more than half the souls of the port town had already died of it—that the mayor’s final recourse had been to burn the ships at dock in hopes of stemming the tide of death. Geoffrey prayed that even in his extremity the mayor had forb
idden the firing of the royal ships. But he could do nothing. After securing such meager knowledge as he could, he had set his spur to Saracen and hied himself home.

Quiet prevailed inside the manor house, its coolness a welcome treat after the hour long ride in the blazing sun. A bath would be a treat also. He could use Alyse’s water from the morning; no need to fatigue himself
again with carrying heavy buckets. There were more pleasant ways to tire himself out.

He broke into a sprint at the thought of her waiting for him in their bed. His hunger for her would never be sated
, he feared, though he would bear that burden cheerfully all his days. How fortunate they had the long afternoon as well as the night to enjoy themselves before setting out in the morning. He would see to it the night was memorable for them both.

“Alyse
,” he called as he depressed the latch and pushed the door. It did not move. “It is I, love. I have returned early. Alyse?” He tried the door again, but it would not budge. Had she barred it and then fallen asleep?

“Alyse!” He pounded on the door, his gloved fist making little chips of wood fly with each blow. Had she drowned in that cursed tub? He steeled himself against such thoughts.
Discipline and determination were the only weapons he possessed that might aid him in this moment. Fear had no place on the battlefield.

Why she had barred the door was not the immediate question. How to get into the chamber was. A quick inspection of the door assured him
’twould be fruitless to seek entry there. The stout oak was inches thick. Had he a company of men and a battering ram he would make short work of it, but alone he stood no chance. The adjacent walls, however, held more promise.

He tapped one with the hilt of his sword
, and the hollow ring brought a grunt of satisfaction. Not solid stone, but a composite of stone and lath covered in a layer of lime. He gripped the blade and swung the hilt at the wall to the left of the door. If he could break through there, mayhap he could pull the bar back and enter.

Crack
.

The wall splintered,
pulverized plaster flying everywhere. Another blow, and the wooden laths began to show. He redoubled his efforts. Alyse could have slipped getting out of the tub. The image of Mary lying dead on the floor of their chamber arose to taunt him. There was no time to lose. Winding the weapon as far back over his left shoulder as possible, he let fly with all his pent-up fear behind it. Rock and wood shattered, sending up a shower of choking rubble and dust. The hilt lodged between rock and wooden slat. Good. Almost there.

Geoffrey pushed the pommel through, then drew the sword back and stooped to peer through the tiny hole. Nothing. He moved his mouth to the hole. “Alyse! Alyse. Love, are you there?”

No sound.
God’s breath
. Where was she?

He stood again and resumed battering the wall.
A fine white dust settled over his blue tunic, but he cared not. Finally, he had enlarged the hole so he could fit his hand inside. Cheek pressed against the wall and the edge of the door, he felt for the end of the bar. It must be here somewhere. Mayhap a bit higher….

His hand brushed against the solid, square iron bar
, and he surged upward, grasping it. He pulled, but his gloved fingers slipped from the bar. “Damnation!” He snatched his hand back through the hole, bit the tips of the fingers, and stripped the glove off. He rammed his hand into the room, found the bar again, squeezed the end, and pulled.