Rosamund (24 page)

Owein Meredith entered the hall at that moment. “Good morning,
uncle
. Certainly I may now call you uncle as I am Rosamund’s husband.” He nodded to Richard with a small smile of shared conspiracy.

The priest nodded back, a twinkle in his eye.

“Ten months at court, and you could do no better than this common, landless knight?” Henry said ungraciously, not answering Owein’s mockery. “You might as well have remained right here and wed with my lad.”

“I should have hardly been as happy and content the morning after such a marriage, as I am this morning,” Rosamund replied pertly.

Owein and Richard laughed aloud at this remark, but Henry Bolton scowled sourly.

“And,
uncle,
I would have you know that the Queen of the Scots, Margaret Tudor, with her grandmother, the king’s gracious mother, chose my husband for me. The king himself announced our betrothal in his hall before the entire court and was cheered for it. My husband has been raised in the House of Tudor. The king knows he can trust him to manage this small piece of his borderland and not betray him. My husband is respected by the most powerful and mighty man in England, King Henry. My husband is loved and well-regarded by men of consequence. I am proud to be his wife, uncle. I would have gone into a convent and deeded Friarsgate to my order before I would wed with another of your offspring!”

“But you did not have to, lovey,” Owein soothed his wife. “Come, uncles, and let us break our fast.” He led Rosamund to the high board and seated her, placing Henry Bolton on his right and Richard Bolton on Rosamund’s right.

The servants brought the food. Oat stirabout, boiled eggs, ham, bread, butter, and cheese. There was wine and cider. Henry Bolton spoke not a word once the food had been set before him. He ate with both hands and drank three goblets of wine. And when the servants had cleared away the few remnants of the meal Richard Bolton spoke up.

“When you are ready, brother Henry, I will ride with you.”

“Ride with me? Where?”
Henry snapped.

“Home, brother Henry. You have paid your respects to the bridal couple, but surely you will not intrude upon their connubial bliss? Especially as your good wife is ill. You will want to be with her.”

“As you are leaving,
uncle,
” Owein said, “I will bid you my farewell. I must ride out today to inspect our livestock. The herds need to be culled and the culls taken to market. We cannot afford to feed useless beasts this winter, eh?” He stood up, and taking Henry Bolton’s fat hand shook it heartily. Then he turned to Richard. “I thank you, Richard, for all your help. Travel safe and return often.” He shook the older man’s slender and elegant hand. Finally he bent and kissed Rosamund, his lips lingering just
long enough to set her pulses racing. “Are you making soap or conserves today, lovey?” he inquired solicitously.

“I have not decided,” she replied with a grin. “A woman’s work is never done. Perhaps I shall make medicinal salves, my lord.”

“Well,” Henry Bolton said, “I am pleased to see that at least you are finally behaving like a proper and docile wife, niece.”

“Thank you, uncle,” she replied demurely, arising. “Let me go with you to bid you both a proper farewell.” She curtsied to Owein. “I will see you tonight, my lord,” she told him, and he departed the hall. Rosamund turned to a young serving girl and told her, “Go to the kitchens and see that my uncles have sustenance for their travels today.”

“Yes, lady,” the girl responded, bobbing a curtsy before hurrying off on her mission.

Rosamund then sent a serving man to the stables to be certain her uncle’s mounts were fed, watered, and ready to travel. He returned at the same time the serving girl came from the kitchens carrying two squares of cotton cloth, carefully tied. Rosamund took them from her, smiling.

“What is in them?” she asked.

“Fresh bread, cheese, a small joint, and an apple, m’lady,” the girl replied quickly.

“Feel free to fill your flasks, uncles,” the lady of Friarsgate invited. “The sun will eventually grow hot, and you will welcome a drink.”

When the brothers were finally ready, their niece escorted them outside the house where two stable lads were holding their mounts. Richard Bolton bounded lightly into his saddle, his dark homespun robes riding up just slightly to show his well-muscled white calves and his slim feet in their leather sandals. Henry, however, needed a mounting block, and even so had to be pushed and pulled into his saddle. His own gown rode up, revealing his fat thighs straining in their dark hose. No, Rosamund thought, he did not look well, but it was not just his weight, she suspected.

“God go with you both,” she said, bidding them farewell.

“God grant you a son, niece,” Richard Bolton said. “We shall pray for you at St. Cuthbert’s.”

“Thank you, uncle,” she replied.

Henry Bolton grunted. “Can we get going?” he grumbled. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Farewell, niece.”

Rosamund watched as the two men rode off and then turned and went back into the house where Maybel was awaiting her in the hall.

“I did not think my uncle Henry looked well,” she noted.

Maybel chuckled. “I have just had the gossip from the cook who has a sister at Otterly Court. Madame Mavis has grown a big belly, but it ain’t your uncle’s get. ’Tis said your uncle’s wife has been futtering a brawny young stableman. He caught them at it himself and sent the devilish lad packing. Then Madame Mavis announced to all at Easter dinner that she was with child again. Your uncle dares not deny he is the father, for he would sooner die than be made a public cuckold, though most know he is. Now, ’tis said, he questions the paternity of all her bairns, but for the eldest who is so like him that there is little doubt as to who sired him.”

“Poor Uncle Henry,” Rosamund replied. “I almost feel sorry for him, for he is so very proud of being a Bolton, born on the right side of the blanket unlike my uncles Edmund and Richard. Still, he is so avaricious and unpleasant one cannot help but have sympathy for Mavis. Uncle Henry is not easy to live with, Maybel, as we both well know. But adultery? ’Tis a fierce vengeance she has taken on him, I fear, and the poor bairns will suffer the most for her indiscretion and his overweening pride.”

“You have a kind heart, my lass,” Maybel said.

“Will you see to the household today, Maybel?” Rosamund asked her. “I am still tired from our travels and would retire to my chamber to rest a while.”

“Run along, lass,” the older woman said.

“I think I should like a bath brought to me,” Rosamund murmured.

“I’ll send the lads up with hot water,” Maybel answered. “They’ll get the tub out for you,
m’lady.
”

“How grand that sounds,” Rosamund said.

“Well, you’re a knight’s wife now, and should be addressed as thus,” Maybel said. “Now, go along,
m’lady
.”

Rosamund entered the bedchamber, smiling immediately at the man
lying upon the bed awaiting her. “My lord,” she curtsied. “I have ordered a bath, and you must secrete yourself when the servants come, for I would not have it known you are not in the fields culling the livestock, but rather in our bed pleasuring me.” Her amber eyes twinkled. “I have seen my uncles off with picnic lunches to sustain them.”

“Come here, wife, and kiss me,” he said, his hazel-green eyes narrowing speculatively.

Rosamund teasingly kept her distance. “Maybel says that the cook, who has a sister at Otterly, says that Mavis has a big belly and that it isn’t my uncle’s. That is why he looks so dyspeptic. He dare not deny the bairn without bringing scorn upon himself, and you know how Uncle Henry is.”

“Come here,”
he repeated, and with more emphasis this time.

“I think I hear the serving men,” Rosamund responded mischievously. “You must hide in my little garderobe, husband.”

Reluctantly Owein arose from their bed and walked to the small sheltered alcove. Turning, he reached out and yanked her to him. “Madame,” he growled at her, “you are in danger of being spanked, for you are, I fear, a wicked little cock tease.” He kissed her a slow kiss.

Breathless, she pushed him away, but not before she had reached down to caress his love rod, which was in very obvious need of her sweet attentions. “We will decide this among ourselves after the tub is ready. Take off your clothing, sir, for I mean to bathe you myself.”

“Ah,” he murmured, “so you are quite as disobedient as I thought, madame. I will obey you, lovey, and look forward to your tender ministrations.” With a chuckle he went into the garderobe.

“Enter,” Rosamund called out to the rapping on the bedchamber door.

It opened to admit several serving men carrying oak buckets of steaming water. One of them, putting his burden down, went to the tiny recess by the fireplace and drew out the tub, which he placed before the hearth. Then the servants began to fill the tub with the hot water. Rosamund splashed a dollop of her precious bathing oil, a gift from the Queen of the Scots, into the water, and immediately the room was filled with the fragrance of white heather. Picking up their empty buckets, the serving men departed the chamber.

“Humph.” The sound came from the garderobe.

“Not yet, my lord, but a moment more,” Rosamund called to her husband, her fingers hurrying to unlace her garments as she quickly shed them. Finally she was as naked as the day she had been born, and she called out to him in dulcet tones, “Come forth, Owein. I am ready for you now.”

He stepped from the shelter of the deep alcove, equally naked. Seeing her as unclothed as he was, Owein smiled. “I shall not cull you from the herd, lovey,” he gently teased her. “God’s blood, Rosamund, you are surely the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I do not believe I have ever seen a woman entirely denuded of her garments.” His glance was openly admiring.

Her own eyes swept over his tall, lean body. In the sunlight filling their bedchamber he was magnificent. His shoulders were so very broad, yet his waist was narrow, his long legs slender yet shapely. A light golden down covered his legs and his chest, a slim ribbon of the fur descending his belly to enter into a thicket of golden curls where his manhood lay resting. “And you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, my lord,” she answered him softly. Then she blushed with the boldness of their actions and turned away from him, suddenly shy of this big fellow who was her husband. Did all wives behave thusly with their lords? She wondered.

He came up behind her, sliding an arm about her waist to draw her back against him. His other hand cupped a breast and began to play with the nipple. His warm lips brushed the nape of her neck, her shoulder. Then he began to speak softly in her ear, the heat of his breath exciting her as did the words he whispered to her.

“You asked me last night if we would make love as the ram and the ewe. I told you that we should, but not the first time. I have sheathed myself within you thrice, Rosamund. Now I shall show you how the ram sheep takes the ewe sheep.” His fingers closed about her breast and squeezed.

She could scarcely breathe with the effect his words had on her. She shivered with arousal as he gently pushed her toward the table by the fire.

When the table was pressing against her thighs he murmured again in her ear. “Now, lovey, bend forward, bracing yourself with your hands upon the table. Thus you are positioned like the sweet little ewe sheep in her
meadow. The lustful ram will cover you with his own body, mounting you, and thrusting himself within your wet, hot love sheath . . .
so!
” He drove himself forward into her with a single movement.

Rosamund gasped to feel him filling her so fully. He was so very big, and she could swear that his love lance was throbbing inside her.
“Ohh, Owein!”
she cried softly.
“Ohh, yes!”
she encouraged him as he began to move upon her with sharp, fierce strokes of his weapon. His weight pressed her breasts flat upon the table. His fingers held her hips tightly. She gasped with her pleasure as he drove himself forward as far as he might go. And then drew himself almost all the way from her body with a slow, sensuous, and majestic stroke of his manhood.
“Please!”
She could feel the excitement building within her.
“Ohh, please don’t stop! Don’t stop, Owein!”
She arched her back to allow him greater access.
“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!”
she cried, and then she reached her peak, falling away, disappointed that there was no more.

His love juices thundered into her eager body. He hadn’t meant to give in to her so easily, but she was impossible to resist. And now he knew. You made love to a wife like you made love to any woman. With passion, with skill, and in Rosamund’s case, with love. He kissed her ear, murmuring into it,
“Baaaa!”

Rosamund giggled. She couldn’t help herself. He had just made love to her in a most exciting way, and she felt wonderful. “Let me up, my lord. Now we must both bathe, I fear.” She felt his bulk remove itself from her, and straightened up. “Come. The tub is cooling. You first, and I will wash you.” She took him by the hand and led him over to the round oak bath.

He climbed into it, seating himself carefully. “I don’t suppose there is much room for two,” he suggested hopefully.

“Not in this tub, although I have heard there are larger ones. Shall we have the cooper make us one, my lord?” She knelt by him, and began to bathe him with her flannel cloth and a bar of soap.