Philippa (47 page)

Lucy dropped her bundle of garments on the floor of the dayroom, and climbing up the steps to the tub she said, “Duck under now, my lady, and I’ll give your head a good scrubbing.” She dipped her hand into the soap jar, scooping out a handful, and placing it on Philippa’s head she began to wash the young woman’s hair. Twice she lathered, and twice she rinsed. Finishing, she wrapped Philippa’s head in a warmed towel. “There, my lady, and not a flea, nit, or bedbug did I find.” Then climbing down she gathered up the clothing on the floor and hurried out.

Philippa closed her eyes. Just having her head washed so thoroughly made her feel good. She heard a faint rumble of thunder and, opening her eyes, looked through the open windows of the dayroom. The skies were darkening now, and it would rain soon. She didn’t care. She was home. Her hair was clean, and her bed tonight would be fresh. The door to the dayroom opened again, and Crispin entered.

Seeing her, he grinned. “I’m going to join you,” he told her, and began stripping off his garments.

“What if Lucy comes back, and sees you naked?” Philippa protested.

“Lucy won’t be back until we call her. I ran into her out in the corridor. And when I pull that bellpull by our bed, madame, she will come with supper for us. I am not of a mind to go into the hall tonight. You are to be my appetizer, wife.” The last of his clothing hit the floor, and he walked towards the tub.

“We’ll overflow the water,” she protested weakly.

“Nay, we won’t,” he replied. “I told the men just how much water to fill.” He climbed up the steps, and then stepped into the water. Yanking Philippa to him he kissed her, a deep and passionate kiss. “We have been too long apart, little one.”

“We have not been apart at all,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

He pulled the towel from her head, and his fingers dug into her scalp. “Aye, we have been apart, madame, but we will not be apart any longer.” He released her head, and his hands dove beneath the water to cup the twin halves of her bottom, lifting her up to impale her upon his love rod. “Now, wife, we are no longer apart,” he growled as her eyes widened with surprise, and he pressed her back against the wooden sides of the tub.

“Oh, my lord!” she exclaimed as he slipped into her love channel. She had not forgotten how marvelous his passion was these last few weeks, but she had forgotten how big he was. He plumbed her to the very depths of her soul, his lean hips moving faster and faster until to her surprise they both cried out.

“God’s wounds, I am a beast!” he groaned. “I had not a damned thought for you. Only my own pleasure. Forgive me, Philippa!”

She laughed weakly. “Crispin, I do not know how ladylike it is of me to admit that despite the swiftness of it all I gained pleasure too.”

“You wanted this too?” he asked.

“Very much, my lord,” she answered him with a small smile. “I have missed our couplings, husband. But we must wash each other first so we may get into bed, and continue this delightful interlude. Then I shall want to eat, and possibly make love again, unless, of course, you are too tired from all our travels,” she concluded teasingly. She unlocked her grip about his neck, her feet touching the bottom of the tub once more.

“Madame, you truly amaze me,” he told her, approval in his eyes.

“I shall wash your hair, for though Lucy found no bugs in mine that does not mean you have escaped unscathed, my lord.” Then Philippa set about to slosh water on his ash brown hair and wash it. When she had finished, she took up the bathing brush and scrubbed his back, his shoulders, and his arms. She took up the soft flannel cloth and, soaping it, wiped it across his broad chest and over his dear face. She washed and she rinsed until she declared him clean. “Now get out, and let me conclude my ablutions, my lord. The towels are warm.”

He obeyed, climbing from the tub, taking up a towel with which to dry himself, and then watching with pleasure as the tips of her breasts bobbed above the water while she scrubbed her back. His mouth yearned to close over those tempting little bits of flesh. He toweled off his head, and then wrapped the fabric about his loins, but it did nothing to disguise the burgeoning lust that was beginning to consume him. He had never wanted any woman in the way that he desired Philippa. Philippa, his adorable little wife! Philippa, who not only burned a fire in his body, but in his heart as well. But how could he tell her, when she gave no evidence that her heart was engaged by his. She was sweet, and biddable. She was faithful to the church, and passionate in their bed. But she gave nothing of her emotions even as she gave so generously of her body. “I will wait for you in our bedchamber,” he said, and disappeared through the door into the other room.

“I will not be long,” she called after him. Holy Mary! she thought. He was so very passionate. Were all men like this? Another question among the many for her mother to answer. And suddenly Philippa knew that she had to go to Friarsgate as soon as possible. If he was passionate, then why did he not love her, and if he did, why did he not declare it? Her mother would surely have the solutions to all her queries. She climbed from her tub, and slowly, carefully, dried herself off. Then sitting by the fire, she rubbed her hair with the toweling until it was dry too. Dropping the towel upon the floor, she walked into their bedchamber.

“Stop!” he said as she stepped across the threshold. “I want to look at you, little one. You are so outrageously fair, Philippa.” His gaze warmed her flesh, and then he held out his hand to her, and she came forward to take it. He drew her into their bed, pulling her down to kiss him.

Outside there was a crack of lightning, and Philippa felt as if it were the joining of their lips that had caused it. Their mouths seemed fused together in a hot and wet kiss that deepened in intensity as her naked breasts pressed against his smooth broad chest. She lay atop him, and her hands tangled themselves into his hair even as his ensnared themselves in her thick auburn hair, his fingers kneading her scalp. His body was warm against hers. She could feel his need for her once again, sense his restraint as they sought to savor this heated moment building between them. Finally she drew her head away from his, her lips bruised and actually aching.

He lifted her up so that she sat upon his torso, her legs on either side of him. She held down his lust with her sweet small bottom, and for now he wanted it that way. Reaching up, he fondled her breasts. They were perfect little spheres of delight. He cupped one breast in the palm of his hand. The fingers from his other hand brushed the tender flesh lightly. He put those fingers in his mouth, and then encircled her nipple with the wetness. She shivered slightly. He took that nipple between his thumb and his forefinger, rubbing it until it had become a very hard little nub. He pinched it, and she made a sound. Looking up at her face he saw that her eyes were closed as she experienced each new pleasure that he offered. He played with the first breast for a time, and then moved on to the second.

She sighed, but was silent. He knew what he would do next. It was time. After a month of celibacy for them both she would be ready for what he wanted from her next. “Lie back now, little one,” he said low. “Lie back for me, and I will give you a wonderful new experience. You must not be fearful, Philippa. I would never harm you.”

Her heart beat faster at his words. The unknown frightened her, but every unknown she had unveiled with him had brought her nothing but pleasure. Obediently she lay back. He pushed her legs up halfway, and she felt him press a pillow beneath her buttocks. What was he doing? Her eyes remained closed. She didn’t know if she was ready yet to view him as he made love to her. Then he raised her legs higher, and over her shoulders. She felt his hands holding her firmly in that position. His head? Was that his head between her thighs? Holy Mary, it was! And then she felt his tongue beginning to push between her nether lips and forage in her most secret place. Philippa gasped, shocked. “Crispin!” she managed to cry out, and her eyes flew open.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Trust me, little one,” was all he said, and then his head fell again, and she felt his tongue on her.

The tongue was the most exquisite torment she had ever known before. It licked, and it lapped her silken flesh. Her juices were flowing faster and more copiously than they ever had. And he was eagerly drinking them down from the sound that his busy tongue was making. Then the tongue touched a place that heretofore only his finger had touched. And that tongue worked back and forth over the sensitive jewel of her womanhood until Philippa was moaning. It was too sweet. She would die of it, but she didn’t. The wave simply rose, and rose, and rose before falling. Twice he pleasured her in this new way, and then he was mounting her. His lover’s lance was pushing into her love sheath. He was moving on her. Her body responded, rising up to meet him again and again until she was whimpering with her need to be satisfied. And then their mutual hunger was met. He exploded his juices into her and, shuddering, fell away from her with a deep groan of satisfaction.

They lay side by side gasping with the wonder of what had just transpired between them. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, but he said nothing. Why could she not say she cared for him? the earl wondered. Surely what had just happened to them could not have happened did she not love him.

Philippa felt several tears slip down her cheeks, but she too remained silent. Why would he not say he loved her? But perhaps he didn’t.

Finally Crispin St. Claire spoke in low tones. “Is it possible that we have made a child this night?” he wondered aloud.

“I do not know, my lord,” Philippa whispered back, knowing that they had not because of the brew she took each day.

“I think we have,” he said with certainty. “Such passion between a man and his wife should not go for naught.”

“I have never considered the passion between us for naught, my lord,” she replied.

“Indeed, madame?” How interesting, he thought. Her responses to their lovemaking was everything a man could want of a woman, but she rarely spoke on it. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “Shall I call Lucy to bring us our supper?”

“Hmmm.” She nodded. “Wake me when it comes,” and her eyes closed.

He reached out and yanked the bellpull. He had already ordered their supper from the kitchens and so he knew what the tray would contain. Putting his arm around Philippa, he lay quietly listening to her sleep. She was very tired from their travels, and he almost wished they did not have to go north in another few weeks, but he had promised her the visit. Her sister’s wedding was important to her, and he needed to meet his in-laws. He considered Philippa’s birthright, and wondered if he was wise in refusing it, in allowing her to refuse it. Aye, he was. The St. Claires of Wittonsby were no great family, nor were they likely to be a great family. The days in which a man might draw his family higher were gone. Hearing Lucy outside in the dayroom, the earl rose from his bed, wrapping the discarded toweling about him, and went to speak with her.

“Empty the tub out, and then get Peter to help you put it away. Her ladyship will not need you again tonight, Lucy. Was your chamber ready for you?”

“Oh, yes, my lord,” Lucy said. “Everything was just as I left it, and Mistress Marian is most kind. She has asked me to have supper with her and Peter.”

“Do the tub then, and you are both dismissed,” he told the young servant, and returned into the bedchamber, shutting the door behind him.

Lucy quickly went to the cupboard and pulled out a length of hose. Attaching it to a spout on the side of the tub, she brought the hose over to the window. Drawing back the drapery, she lifted a copper flap on the outside wall and pushed the hose through the opening into a drain that ran down the outside wall of the house. Then hurrying back to the tub she turned a spigot, and the water in the tub began to drain out. The door from the corridor outside opened, and Peter entered.

“Ah,” he said, “you have it going already. I came to help you so we might go and have supper with my sister. She wants to know more about you.”

“You can help me get the tub back into its cupboard,” Lucy said. “Why does your sister want to know more about me? What is there to know? I was raised at Friarsgate. My sister is the Lady Rosamund’s tiring woman. I have been with my lady since she was ten years old. There is no mystery about me. I am what you see.”

“My sister thinks we should marry,” Peter said quietly.

“What?” Lucy looked very surprised. “Why would she think that?”

“She says it is a good thing for the earl’s valet and the countess’s tiring woman to be wed. That way each is not distracted in their duty by others,” Peter replied.

“Your sister is a bossy woman if you were to ask me,” Lucy said sharply. “I’m not of a mind to wed right now. Besides, I think you are probably too old for me.”

“I am forty,” he answered her.

“And I am twenty,” Lucy said. “Still, if one day we were to become fond of one another I might consider marriage. But not now, and I will tell your sister so if she presses the issue. Come on now, and help me tip the tub to get the last of the water out. The supper on the table will be cold if we do not complete our duty, and depart. Our master and mistress will not thank us if it is.”

“I think they are more interested in their bedsport right now than food,” Peter said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Why, bless me,” Lucy chuckled, “you are not all stiff and starch, are you?”

“We shall not tell Mistress Marian that, however, shall we?” he responded.

“Nay, we won’t, Master Slyboots,” Lucy said with a grin.

The tub emptied, together they wrestled it back into the large cupboard in the wall and departed the apartment, Lucy giving the door a little slam on the way out to alert her master that they were gone.

The door to the bedchamber opened, and the earl came out to inspect the covered dishes on the tray. There was a small dish of oysters that had come up the river today, and he swallowed six down, pouring himself a goblet of red wine and drinking it along with the oysters. Philippa came sleepily from the bedchamber. She was naked. She said nothing, but inspected the tray, and picking up a meat pastry began to eat it hungrily. He poured another goblet of wine and handed it to her.