Philippa (35 page)

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.

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.”