Blaze Wyndham (18 page)

piped the enthusiastic young voices to their master and mistress and all their assembled guests. Each child was rewarded with a small silver penny, and Lord Robert and his wife marveled to themselves at their son-in-law’s great generosity.

The twenty-third of December finally saw the gentlemen hunters successful, and a great boar with ugly curved tusks was brought home trussed securely between two poles. Little Gavin Morgan, who was almost six, rode excitedly ahead of the hunting party as they returned, triumphantly blowing upon his hunting horn. It had been his first grown-up hunt, and he could not sleep that night for his excitement.

The twenty-fourth of December saw the Yule log cut from the trunk of a huge fallen ash, hauled in from the forest through the Great Hall, and set into the huge main fireplace, which it more than filled. Everyone in the household from the lowliest scullion to the earl himself had pushed and pulled the great Yule log to its final resting place, for it was considered good luck to do so.

It was Blaze’s duty as mistress of RiversEdge to light the Yule log. Custom dictated that each year’s log must be first lit with a brand from the previous year’s log, which had been kept safe beneath the bed of the lady of the house. As Edmund Wyndham had not formally celebrated this holiday the year before due to his first wife’s death, it was now the brand from Catherine Wyndham’s last Yule log that he gave to Blaze. Their eyes met as she thrust the burning brand into the dry kindling, and she somehow felt that in completing this simple act she was truly Edmund’s wife, and the Countess of Langford. Catherine Wyndham, God assoil her good soul, was now only memory.

There had been much singing and laughter, and now that the huge log burned red-gold within the Great Hall’s main fireplace, all were served ale, and a merry Christmas was toasted. From the minstrel’s gallery now came music. Special Yule cakes were served along with hot Christmas frumenty, which was fine hulled wheat boiled in milk and sweetened with a sugar loaf. This was a very special treat for the servants, for sugar was a precious commodity.

Shortly before midnight they departed for Saint Michael’s church, reaching it just on the hour as the bells in the church tower, and all over England, joyously tolled in the Christmas. The bells celebrated not only Christ’s birth but also the firm Christian belief that that birth signaled the devil’s destruction. Stepping from their carriages, the earl, his family, and his guests entered the church to celebrate the first Mass of Christmas.

The night was calm and black. The stars above surely as sharp and bright as the very night of the Nativity itself. From within Saint Michael’s came the pure high voices of the church’s choristers, their clear tones floating to the heavens as they sang.

and,

Within the church there was barely room to move, for everyone from the eldest soul to the littlest children in the villages and outlying farms of Michaelschurch and Wyeton had come to share the Christmas Mass with the earl and his beautiful countess. Blaze did not believe that she had ever been happier than she was at this moment, her hand tucked into her husband’s hand, her beloved family about her. Only one thing would make her life perfect. A child.
Next year,
she prayed.
Let me stand in your house on Christmas next with my child, O Lord!

Returning to the house, she made certain that all her guests were comfortable before taking her own rest. “I have sent Heartha to her own bed,” she told Edmund. “You will have to be my tiring woman, my lord.”

“Not an unpleasant task, my sweet,” he told her, turning her about so he might unlace her. Tossing her jeweled bodice aside, he slid his hands into her chemise front, cupping her round breasts within his hands. Teasingly he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, and grinned to himself, pleased when he felt the flesh pucker beneath his touch. The softness within his hands grew taut and firm as his kisses moved from her rounded shoulder to the junction between her shoulder and neck.

“Hmmmmmmmmm,” came her murmur, and arching her back, she pressed her little buttocks into his groin, rotating her hips as she did so. Feeling his length harden against her, it was Blaze’s turn to smile.

“Witch!” he groaned through gritted teeth as she increased her sensuous little movements.

Blaze laughed low, and moved out of her husband’s grasp. Turning about to face him, she loosened her skirts and petticoats, allowing them to slip to the floor. Stepping away from the colorful pile of fabric, she pulled her chemise over her head, and but for velvet shoes and dark knit stockings, was nude.

“Come, sir, my nightrail,” she teased him.

Edmund Wyndham’s dark brown eyes burned with open desire as he stared at his beautiful wife. With quick deliberate motions he tore his own garments off until he stood completely naked, his aroused state no longer hidden from her. Catching at Blaze’s hand, he drew her down upon the bed.

“My footwear!” she protested.

He slipped the shoes from her feet, and then drew each stocking with its saucy garter down her pretty legs. “I’ll not wait,” he said. “You’ve roused me beyond a mortal man’s capacity to wait.”

“I am ready for you, my passionate lord,” she whispered back, pulling his head down so they might kiss.

With a groan of despair mixed with relief he returned her kiss, all the while plunging his sword within her burning sheath. As always, she was eager for him, and just as eager to please as to be pleasured.

Blaze felt him filling her with his great throbbing desire, and she gave in almost at once to the wonderful feeling of delight that he never failed to arouse in her. Was it wrong to so enjoy this heavenly conjunction of a man and a woman? She was yet too shy to ask her mother, and besides, she suspected that it was not something a girl might easily ask her mother. She would be glad when Bliss and Blythe joined her in nuptial pleasures so she might compare notes with them, but she hoped that they would enjoy this aspect of married life as much as she did.

“Ohhh!” she cried softly, reaching her first peak. “Ohhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhh!” as wave upon wave overtook her. She thrust herself up gladly to meet his downward plunge. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, Edmund!” she sobbed as his hardness delved deeper and deeper into her responsive flesh. Was it never bad?

His excitement finally overcoming his control, the earl poured a libation of his love into his wife’s golden cup before collapsing upon her heaving breasts. “Dear heaven, how I love you,” he murmured hotly in her ear.

Surely a child must come from this, she thought sleepily when he had rolled off her and lay dozing by her side. Next Christmas! We will have a son by next Christmas, I am certain!

Christmas dinner was served late in the afternoon, and Lady Morgan was once again overwhelmed by the bounty of her daughter’s kitchens. The variety of seafood so far from the sea itself was a luxury in which she happily indulged herself. The men feasted delightedly upon oysters, which were brought in oaken tubs filled with ice. Noisily they cracked the shells open, swallowing the cold creatures within whole, all the while making suggestive remarks to the ladies about the benefits of such fare.

Great platters of thin, sliced pink salmon dressed with watercress were brought, as well as platters of boiled carp, and prawns in white wine, lobster, pike, lampreys stewed in red wine with chervil, sole in a sauce of cream and Marsala wine. There was trout from their own streams broiled and served with carved lemons. Blaze’s sisters were fascinated by the fruits, for they had never seen any before, and they commented on the oddity of such a pretty fruit tasting so sour.

A plum porridge was also amongst the first course. Made of a beef broth and thickened with bread crumbs, it was filled with the dried plums from which it took its name, as well as chunks of sugar loaf, currants, raisins, rare spices such as cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg, and sweet wines. This traditional Christmas fare was greeted with delight by all the guests.

The next course offered fresh roe deer brought in by the hunters only two days before, as well as venison, a side of beef that had been packed in a blanket of rock salt and roasted, several finely cured hams, and a half-dozen legs of baby lamb roasted with garlic and rosemary. There was swan, and a pheasant, and a peacock that had been completely reconstructed with its feathers to sit upon a platter of shining gold. There were capons in lemon-ginger sauce, pies of pigeon, lark, and rabbit, and a dozen succulent geese as well as ducks that had been turned upon their spits to a crisp golden brown and set three upon a platter with a sauce of dried plums and cherries. There were bowls of lettuce cooked in white wine, and small leeks with peas, as well as loaves of fine white bread and crocks of sweet butter for all.

The highlight of the Christmas feast was the bringing in of the boar’s head. By tradition the honor of carrying the beast was given to the youngest son of the house, but as there were currently no Langford heirs, Edmund had delegated this task to his brother-in-law, Gavin Morgan. Young Gavin, being but three months short of six years of age, was yet too small to bear the heavy weight of the boar’s head, which had been set upon a gold platter, an apple in its mouth, garlanded and crowned with rosemary and laurel leaves. The huge salver had instead been placed upon a specially gilded and garlanded cart, which the little lad proudly pulled into the hall as all the guests rose from their places singing the traditional carol that greeted the entrance of the boar’s head:

“This is the best Christmas that I can ever remember,” Blaze said softly to her husband.

“It is the happiest Christmas I have ever had because you are now my wife,” he answered her, his dark eyes brimming with his love.

The servants cleared away the plates and platters from the main part of the meal, and the last course of sweets was brought into the hall. There was sweet Malmsey wine served along with dainty wafer-thin sugar biscuits. There were candied rosebuds, violets, and celerylike angelica, as well as tarts made from dried apples, cherries, and plums and served with thick clotted cream; rich cakes that had been soaked in honey-sweetened wines; and silken custards offered with a conserve of stewed cherries. The younger members of the family particularly enjoyed the marzipan, which had been molded into various shapes—flowers, fruits, beasts, and stars—and dusted with colored sugars.

A troupe of mummers arrived. Made up of men from the earl’s two nearest villages of Michaelschurch and Wyeton, they apologized profusely to their master, for it was custom that they come on Christmas Eve. To their embarrassment and shame, they had enjoyed too much their own success and the potent cider offered them the evening before in their own villages. Before they had realized it, it was midnight and time for the Mass.

Before Edmund Wyndham might reassure the mummers, however, his wife spoke up. “Good sirs, you need feel no regrets. Your coming into our hall this blessed Christmas Day both brightens and brings honor to our feast. Perform your play, I pray you, and God bless you for it!”

Immediately the blackened faces of the mummers were wreathed in smiles. “God bless yer ladyship, and bring her a fine son by Christmas next!” they cried with one voice. Their faces were blackened, for it was believed their secret identity brought both their performance and their hosts good luck. Even those who recognized the players pretended that they did not.

Then the mummers performed their traditional Christmas play, which involved Saint George, England’s patron saint, and a Turkish knight and a dragon, both of whom Saint George was called upon to vanquish. The mummers did not wear elaborate costumes, and so their acting skills were called most heavily upon to make their performance real. This particular troupe of village men was quite skilled and very believable. When Saint George, having vanquished first the dragon, was apparently mortally wounded by the wicked Turk, the fourth major character in the play, the quack doctor, made his way forward to attempt a cure upon the fallen hero. With the audience shouting its encouragement now, the quack tried first this remedy, and then that, until at last to the cheers of all he found a magic elixir which instantly restored the brave saint.

The Turk gnashed his teeth and stamped his feet as the miracle became apparent. Fiercely he menaced the loudly cheering children, who squealed, half-fearful, half-delighted, but his reign of terror was quickly over, for the newly cured hero dashed forward and overcame the Turkish knight, to the rousing cheers of the audience. All agreed that it was the best mummers performance that they had ever seen. The successful troupe was loudly praised and profusely thanked before being rewarded with a bag of silver and sent off to the kitchens for cakes and ale.

The day after Christmas they celebrated the Mass of Saint Stephen, the first Christian martyr. Afterward, as it was also Boxing Day, the special alms box in the parish church was opened by Father Martin, and the monies collected within distributed to the poor of the area. Then one of the earl’s finest horses was ceremoniously “bled” to ensure the good health of all the estate’s horses in the coming year.

The festivities continued throughout the whole Twelve Days of Christmas at RiversEdge. New Year’s Eve saw bonfires spring up on all the surrounding hills as the bells tolled in the new year of Our Lord, 1522. On New Year’s Morning the family exchanged gifts with one another. Edmund delighted Blaze with an elegant cape of rich brown velvet that was lined in rabbit’s fur. The clasp that held the cape together was fashioned of gold with a large golden topaz for a button. Blaze surprised her husband with a magnificent gray stallion that had been bred by one of his neighbors and that she knew he coveted for breeding purposes.