Besieged (37 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Besieged
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“Oh, m’lady, you shouldn’t be doing that,” Rois cried.
Fortune smiled at her servant. “And who else is there to do it if we don’t, Rois? I haven’t been raised to be so fine a lady that I can’t bring a small chair into a house. Come on!”
Working together the two women lugged several chairs, a trestle table, and a wooden settle into the main room of the cottage. Then they brought in the bed with its head, foot, and rope springs. Looking for his wife, Kieran Devers saw what the two women were doing. Calling to Kevin, they joined their wives, putting the bed together, bringing in the mattress and featherbed, as well as Brendan’s large oaken cradle, which was set by the small hearth in what was to be the bedchamber.
Suddenly Rois stopped, and looking distressed said, “What am I to cook for dinner? I have no pots unpacked yet, or food to feed us.”
“You’ll eat with us,” Fortune said quietly. “Mrs. Hawkins said she was roasting a turkey.”
“But, m’lady, it isn’t proper that we sit at table with our betters,” Rois worried. “What would yer mam say? What would my grandmam say for that matter? It isn’t right.”
“Rois,” Fortune said patiently, “this isn’t England, or Scotland, or Ireland; and Fortune’s Fancy certainly isn’t a castle, or the fine mansion it will be one day. This is Mary’s Land. I will wager my husband hasn’t been sitting in isolated splendor all these months at his meals. He’s eaten with Kevin, and whoever else came to table.” She looked to Kieran, and he nodded. “You see,” Fortune said. “Now, no nonsense about it. In time I’ll have an elegant room for dining, but for now it is the keeping room for all.”
Mrs. Hawkins had roasted a large bird that she served with yams that had been baked in the coals, new peas, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. Afterward there was a dessert made of dried apples and honey. Fortune ordered that a small barrel of October ale that she had transported be broached for them to enjoy. The four bondmen sitting at the far end of the trestle, thanked her. They had not tasted good English beer in a long time. The two mothers cut tiny pieces of turkey to feed their children along with mashed yams, and bits of bread and cheese. Both Aine and Brendan already had a few teeth, and were eager to use them. Dolly proved most helpful, giving her mistress and Rois opportunity to eat while she kept the two little ones amused. Comfort Rogers, however, did not sit at the trestle for Mrs. Hawkins had her busy helping to serve the meal.
“When do I get to eat?” Comfort whined. “There’ll be nothing left by the time
they
finish.”
“If there’s no turkey, you can have a nice bowl of corn mush,” Mrs. Hawkins said cheerfully. “It’ll fill you up right enough.”
The meal over, the bondmen departed for their quarters in the barn. Kevin picked up Brendan, who was already half asleep, and putting an arm about Rois headed for their cottage.
“I’ll put the wee mistress to bed, m’lady,” Dolly said. “She’s asleep already, bless her.”
“Thank you,” Fortune said.
Kieran reached out, and took her hand in his. “Come,” he said. “I want to show you about before the sun sets.”
They walked out, and Fortune saw that the house was set on a small bluff above the bay. She could see the meadows with the horses, and at least two fields planted with some kind of crop. The air was soft with early summer, and it was so different than England. And far warmer too, she noted.
“I have so many questions,” she said. “What are we growing in those fields?”
“Tobacco,” he told her. “It’s an excellent cash crop for us, and we need it for Mary’s Land is not quite the civilized society it will be one day. The horses we raise are not the sort to pull wagons, but rather the kind a gentleman or a gentlewoman would ride, or race. Perhaps we shall sell some of our animals into Virginia, but not yet.”
“Are we growing food?” she asked him.
“Aye, for by Mary’s Land law we must. There are three crops the Indians have introduced us to besides corn. There are beans, squash, and pumpkins. And we have found our seed grows in this soil. Peas, carrots, beets, marrows. And native yams, of course. ’Tis a bounteous land.”
“When we rebuild the house with brick,” Fortune said, “it must face the bay. The view is so beautiful. I have never before seen anything like it.” She turned, and looked up at him. “Thank you for our home, Kieran.”
“I have missed you so very much,” he said softly, his fingers touching her face gently. “How many nights I lay awake longing for you, Fortune, wondering if this place we have come to would suit you as it suits me. Can you be happy here in Mary’s Land, so far from your people?”
“You are my people,” she told him. “You, and Aine, and the other children we shall have. Aye, I will miss my family, but as long as we are together I can bear it. As for this place, it is where I belong. Where you belong. I felt it as we sailed up the bay from the sea to St. Mary’s Town. I knew it deep within me. This land called us, Kieran.”
The sun was setting behind them, and the stars beginning to come out above them as they walked back to the house hand in hand.
“I am going to have a bath,” Fortune announced. “Somewhere among all my possessions is a large oak tub. Have the men find it and fill it for me. It can be set up in our bedchamber. I shall go and find Mistress Hawkins so she will set the water boiling. I haven’t had a bath in six weeks, Kieran, and my skin is sticky with the sea wind, and the salt. I must have a bath. And then”—she smiled at him seductively, and knowingly—“we will have to become reacquainted, sir.”
He grinned happily at her. “I’ll see the tub is found, madame. I may even join you, or play the maid, whichever will please you.”
Fortune laughed happily. It was beginning to feel as if they had never been apart, and she could see from the eager look in his eyes that he felt the same way too.
The tub was found, and set up in the bedchamber. Buckets of water were brought to fill it. Finally they were alone. A small fire burned in the corner fireplace for the evening air had turned chill. The curtains were drawn. The candles flickered softly. Kieran knelt before his wife who sat on the edge of their bed. He pulled her boots off, and then rolled her stockings down her legs, remembering first to slide the rosetted garters off. Fortune stood, and turned her back to him. He unlaced her bodice as she undid the tabs holding her skirts up. The skirts and bodice were carefully laid aside upon a chair.
Fortune now stood facing him in her chemise and petticoats. The petticoats were swiftly discarded. Raising her arms she gathered up her flaming red hair, and pinned it atop her head. He could see the outline of her breasts as she performed this simple task, and felt his desire rising. Reaching out he deliberately began to undo the narrow pink ribbons holding the halves of the chemise together. When the fragile cambric garment was undone at last, he pushed it over her shoulders so that it fell to the floor. Then he stepped back, and breathed a sigh of pure pleasure.
“God’s blood, lass, you are surely the most beautiful woman I have ever known.” His two hands clasping themselves about her waist he lifted her up slowly, lowering her just enough so he might kiss her moss rose nipples.
“I must bathe,” she protested softly.
His tongue began to lick at her flesh. “You’re salty,” he said with a small chuckle. Then he ceased his teasing, and set her down in her tub. Kneeling by her side he took up the washing cloth, and soaping it began to smooth it over her back and shoulders, using his big hand as a cup to rinse her. Then one arm. The cloth slid down the silken skin from neck to hand. He rinsed her, and kissed each fingertip. The second arm was identically served, but this time he sucked on her fingers slowly, and with deliberate meaning.
“You are a poor maid,” she said low. “You have washed neither my neck, or my ears, Kieran Devers.”
In reply he bent and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck before running the soapy cloth over it. “You have always had the most graceful neck, and tempting nape, madame,” he murmured. The hand holding the cloth dipped below the water, surfaced, was wrung out, and then gently scoured each small ear, the lobe of which he kissed as he finished.
The cloth was moistened, and squeezed out again. He soaped it lavishly, and wiped it across her chest, sliding beneath the water to cleanse her ripe breasts, teasing the nipples with the flannel cloth until they puckered and thrust forward in the warm water. “Stand up,” he said in a thick voice.
“I can do the rest,” she assured him. Her heart was beating wildly. The look in his eyes was so passionate.
“Stand up!”
he repeated through gritted teeth.
Fortune stood.
From his kneeling position he almost looked like a supplicant at the foot of a goddess, and he felt like one. He had promised her he would be faithful, and he had been. He had not lain with any woman since he had last lain with his wife.
His beautiful, seductive, lush wife.
Kieran was almost trembling with anticipation. His manhood was already rock hard in his breeches with his desire for Fortune. He wondered if she felt the same way, and looked up into her face.
When their eyes met Fortune felt the prudently banked fires in her loins spring up and threaten to suffocate her in the conflagration. She could actually feel her nipples thrusting and tingling with anticipation. Her legs felt weak, and yet she stood straight as the cloth laved gently over her belly, and down each shapely limb. Her blue-green eyes never left his dark green ones. She could not have, even if her very life depended upon it, looked away. The look overwhelmed her with its hungry craving, its intense need, its blazing desire.
His finger spread her nether lips open to his view. For a long, hot moment he stared at the sweet flesh filling his gaze. Then the cloth swept over it, washing, teasing, making her long for him even as he longed for her. She whimpered as he leaned forward and began to tongue her. She felt heat licking at her center of being.
“Kieran!”
She half-sobbed his name as his hands cupped her buttocks drawing her into a most intimate conjunction with his lips.
The taste of her! The scent of her!
It maddened him with lust. How many months? How many years since he had last held her in his arms? Had made passionate love to her? He rubbed his cheek against her belly, his fingers digging into the flesh of her derriere as he forced back the lust that threatened to consume him. He wanted it perfect tonight of all nights. They had waited for so long, and now within their own home he would take her slowly, and with love. He stood.
Fortune’s fingers clumsily began to unlace his shirt. Her hands were practically shaking in their eagerness. She pushed the fabric from him, her lips touching his heated skin. She felt a chill as the night air touched her wet body, and remembered she was standing in her tub. Bending she kissed his chest and belly frantically. She was aching to possess him. This love play was utter torture. Her fingers fumbled at his breeches, and he laughed, helping her, but then she swore impatiently.
“You’ve still got your damned boots on,” she said, straightening up, and glaring at him.
In reply he pulled her close again, but this time his fingers sought her out. “You’re an eager wench,” he said softly, and two of his fingers pushed themselves into her sheath.
Fortune shuddered with pure pleasure. “Ahhh, yes!” she sighed.
The fingers thrust deliberately, tauntingly into her fevered body, and Fortune squirmed frantically to make the conjunction between them even closer than it was, her fingers tangling themselves in his dark hair, pulling at it to force his head down, and then their lips met in a hungry kiss, their tongues frantically playing. She shivered as a frisson of pleasure was released by his teasing fingers.
“There, you delightfully greedy little bitch, that should hold you for a moment or two while I divest myself of the rest of my clothing.” The fingers slid from her body, and looking into her sloed eyes he put them into his mouth, murmuring appreciatively. “You taste quite delicious, my darling lass.”
She couldn’t move for the longest time. She stood there in the warm water of her tub enjoying the wonderful feelings of pure pleasure that he had unleashed in her.
It had been too long. But it would never be that long again,
the voice in her head assured her.
His back to her, he drew off the remainder of his garments. “Now, wife,” he said to her, “it is your turn to bathe me.”
“Kieran, I am dying for you,” she pleaded with him.
“As I am for you,” he replied, and turned about.
She moaned lustfully at the sight of his manhood, fully engorged with his hunger for her, thrusting out from its nest of black curls.
“You must learn the fine art of compromise, Fortune,” he told her, climbing into the tub. Seating himself carefully, he pulled her down.
Fortune gasped with both surprise and pleasure to find herself impaled on his love lance as he seated her opposite him.
“Now, my love,” he said calmly, handing her the flannel washing cloth, “wash me.” The dark green eyes gazed at her.
She could hardly breathe as she attempted to ply the soft cloth over his chest. The sensation of him filling her was so terribly acute. He throbbed with desire within her hot, tight sheath. She ached. She was both hot and cold at the same time. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she washed him with an almost grim determination, leaning over his shoulders to wipe at his broad back. The slightest movement she made was so intense that she was close to shrieking her need for him, particularly when he began to fondle her breasts, playing in leisurely fashion with the sensitive globes, tweaking at the nipples until she begged him to cease, or she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

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