RulingPassion (17 page)

“Thank you, Elspeth, you have given me the best medicine
possible for my pain.”

Calmed and comforted, she settled into bed and quickly fell
asleep this time. If anyone else came to the door, she failed to notice or
rouse.

Rosalind actually enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of
remaining in bed in the morning even after sunlight began to stream through her
window. She rose only when a sharp knock preceded the entrance of Glennys to
help her dress.

“I will fetch your breakfast now, my lady,” she said
afterward. “Would you have an egg or jam? We believe my lord’s restrictions on
food were more to confirm his confining you here as a punishment than because
he truly meant to short you.”

“Nay,” Rosalind answered. “Bread and water were ordered;
bread and water it shall be. In truth…” She laughed a little. “I have had too
much rich food and drink the past few days. The prospect of plain bread and
water, eaten peacefully in isolation, appeals greatly.”

Glennys smiled back at her and nodded.

Had her thoughts not been so preoccupied by speculations on
the future and on how Jeoffrey felt about her faux pas, she would have enjoyed
the peace and tranquility of a day when she had no calls on her time and no one
to entertain or plan for. Glennys collected embroidery materials for her and
Rosalind began a project, reacquainting herself with the soothing effect of
stitching and the pleasure in watching beautiful patterns emerge.

The day slid by easily until the light began to dim at the
window. Rosalind wondered when she should be released from her confinement.
Bread and water had sufficed for most of the day, but now her stomach rumbled
with the desire for more substantial fare.

She was about to release herself and go in search of a
snack, but before she could do so, the door opened and Jeoffrey himself marched
into the room.

“Lady Rosalind,” he said. “You appear well-rested. Are you
well?”

“Well enough, my lord,” she answered, trying to gauge his
mood. His expression was stern, set in hard lines, though not openly angry. His
tone was neutral.

“And you have no ill effects from your discipline
yesterday?”

“None whatsoever, my lord. You were careful that would be
so.”

“Good,” he said. “Then there will be no impediment to my
taking you over my knee and giving you the spanking you truly deserve.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Deserve?” Shock had driven her voice away so she could
barely get the word out. “How so, my lord? Was I not sufficiently punished
yesterday?”

“That discipline was for your insult to the duchess. This is
for taking it upon yourself to force me into ordering the punishment, an act
that outraged most of the household by the way, and for leaving me, as a
result, to cope with that entire family for the rest of the evening and this
morning.”

“Was it so difficult as that, my lord?” she asked.

“Worse.” He sat on the side of her bed. “As you well know.
Take off your clothes and come over here.”

Still unsure of his mood, she removed her overrobe and
shift, then stood nude before him. He took her arm and gently pulled her to
him, flipped her over, and draped her across his knee. He slid back far enough
on the bed she actually rested on it as well, with only her midsection raised
over his lap.

He immediately began slapping her bottom with his hand, not
terribly hard, but repeatedly and continuously. He worked up and down, from
waist to thighs, going over and over it, until she knew the skin must be very
red indeed and it was stinging quite sharply. She considered protesting and
swallowed it. They had both been through a difficult, emotional event, and
she’d made his situation much worse with her failure. Her discipline yesterday
might have satisfied the duchess, but he knew well enough it had hurt her pride
far worse than her body. Perhaps they both needed this to release their
emotions over it.

It hurt, but it wasn’t the same kind of pain she’d known
yesterday. This stung more on her rear, but rather than grating her pride, it
set alight something else in her body, rousing her longing for him. It was a
sweet, fiery pain that made her ache in deep, womanly ways. She was sure he
knew it, too, for he occasionally halted and explored her flesh, rubbing her
derriere and tracing a curious finger down the crack to the private areas. When
he rubbed at her slit, she could tell it was slick with the moisture of her
desire for him. But then he would resume spanking her.

Even when she began to moan, he whaled away, ignoring her
sobs and squeals, until she could bear it no longer and begged, “Please, my
lord, can you forgive me yet? I apologize abjectly for all the wrongs I have
done you the past few days, but I truly do not know that I can bear more
punishment.”

He deposited five more hard slaps on her bottom, making her
screech and try to wiggle away, then he stopped, put one hand under her waist,
the other below her knees, and flipped her over. He raised her head and wiped
away the tears with his thumbs before he kissed her. His tongue did a slow,
thorough exploration of her lips, then pushed through them to rub along her
teeth and do a sinuous mating dance with her tongue. Her bottom throbbed—her
entire body throbbed with need for him.

His hands moved over her, cupping her breasts, touching
delicately at the sensitive tips, tracing around them, then over them,
squeezing exquisitely until she was moaning aloud.

He tipped her back onto the bed and lay alongside her. His
mouth went where his hands had lately explored, sucking and nibbling until she
was writhing with pleasurable tension.

A trail of kisses down her belly to the joint of her legs
made her groan again, wanting him, needing him. His hair skimmed her flesh
along with his tongue, and its delicate brush contrasted sweetly with the
rougher rasp.

His big, hard hands rubbed along her thighs, running down
the front, coming up along the middle, brushing slowly, slowly higher until she
ached to have his touch on the center of her need.

He parted the outer lips and explored within, first with
gentle fingers, then with his mouth. Each stroke there sent flashes of
lightning and white heat through her, winding her tighter, taking her higher.
Yet just as she reached the point where she knew another lick would push her
over the edge, he stopped and waited until she cooled a little. Then he went
back to work, driving her to new heights of tension, stopped and waited once
again.

After the second pause, when his tongue touched her again,
it sent her into near-madness, and the explosion that followed had her body
arching up off the bed, throbbing with relentless spasms of sheer ecstasy. He
lay beside her and held her until the climax finally wore itself out and let
her return to herself.

He brushed hair back from her face and leaned over to kiss
her again. He started to move over her and she put a hand on his chest to hold
him in place next to her. “Not yet, my lord,” she whispered to him. “I have a
favor to return to you.”

She saw the puzzlement in his eyes turn to comprehension and
delight as she leaned over him and loosened the laces of his tunic and shirt.
She slid them over his head, and began to lick his chest, running her tongue up
and down, tangling in the pale blond hair there, circling his flat nipples, and
flicking over them until he groaned and reached for her.

She eluded his grasp by ducking lower. She skimmed her mouth
down his chest to his abdomen, pushing his leggings down, skirting the hot,
throbbing length of his cock, until she reached the joint where hip met thigh.
After a brief pause while she removed his boots and hose, she trailed a hand
down the front of one thigh, her lips down the other, then nudged his legs
apart and slipped both hand and mouth around to the inside. They traveled up
again, slowly, pinching lightly, licking and nipping. She reached the top.
Faced with the hair-roughened balls, she hesitated a moment, looking up along
his length to his face. He lay very still, only his chest rising and falling in
fast rhythm. His eyes were closed tight and lips pinched together.

She reached out and cupped the heavy balls in her hand,
playing her fingers over them, exploring this mystery that was exclusive to
men. They felt surprisingly delicate in her hold. He let out a long, gasping
moan. She reached higher, moving a tentative finger onto the base of his rod,
starting to trace its length. The skin was soft but stretched tightly over hardness
beneath. He groaned loudly and began to writhe just as she had before. She
reached a spot just below the tip and rubbed gently at the slight ridge there.

The bed shook as he convulsed with pleasure. He moaned in an
agony of near-unbearable pleasure. She moved her fingers onto the head of his
cock, surprised by the contrast. It was softer and sleeker with a drop of fluid
leaking from the end. His breath was coming in harsh gasps now.

Following his example, she leaned over and let her tongue
trace the line up his shaft her finger had lately taken. He tasted a little
salty, but she delighted in the power she had to give him pleasure beyond
words. His body shook so hard, the bed posts groaned along with him. Her tongue
reached the top and circled the bulb.

He suddenly arched and reached down to take her arms, pulled
her up on top of him, then rolled over so he was above. He nudged her legs
apart and found her entrance. They both grunted as his invasion stirred the
dormant ache of tension into new life in her. He pushed in part of the way,
several times, withdrew, and then finally plunged all the way in, burying
himself inside. His balls slapped against her.

He tried to set a slow rhythm, to make it last longer, but
their need was too great, and soon they came together in shattering, pulsing
waves, their bodies heaving in time.

Afterward, they lay together for a long while, neither ready
to move and acknowledge an ending. “My dearest,” he whispered in her ear. “No
woman ever has—ever will—move me as you have.”

“Then you have forgiven me, my lord, for my behavior this
weekend?”

He laughed softly. “How could I not, when you apologize so
sweetly? But, in truth, I understood all and blamed you for little other than
thwarting my plan to get you off more easily.”

“But you knew why I did so?”

“Aye. I understood. And I am grateful for it, as well,
though I would not have asked for it and did not truly want it.”

“You should have, my lord.”

“Nay.” He was quiet for a moment as though he sought words
to explain his feelings. “True justice knows when discipline should be tempered
with mercy. This was such a case. I want to believe true justice holds more
claim on me than a need to impress a family I seek to join.”

“I understood that as well,” she answered. “But, Jeoffrey, I
wanted, nay, I needed to do that for you. You have given me so much, my very
life, in truth, and a reasonable chance for a content future. I nearly cost you
your future. I would have done much more to rescue what I could.”

He rolled aside to lay next to her, but he pulled her close
so that her head rested on his shoulder and he could stroke her hair.
“Rosalind.” Emotion almost overwhelmed him as she spoke. She stared upward and
saw tears in his brilliant gray eyes.

“You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known. My
only true love and soul of my soul.” He stopped and held her close, so tightly
she knew he wanted never to let her go. “Yet I fear this will be our last night
together. Tomorrow I go to the king and from there I rendezvous with the others
for battle. Should that end satisfactorily, I have promised the duke to
conclude the terms of betrothal immediately thereafter. At that time I will
need an answer from you regarding which suit you choose to accept. Our futures
must proceed in different paths.”

“Before I go, though, I would spend this night with you. Our
last together. But know that my heart will be ever in your keeping, though we
never see each other again hereafter.”

Chapter Nineteen

They ate a quiet but sumptuous dinner alone together in her
quarters, talked for a while about how he thought the battle might be
conducted, then they took to the bed again, made love, quietly and sweetly,
with sad yearning, and finally slept in each other’s arms.

They roused at first light. He kissed her, long and hard.
When she moved to get up with him, he pressed her back on the bed.

“This is the picture I would carry with me ever in my mind.
How beautiful you are in the morning, with your hair rumpled and spread over
the pillow, your lovely eyes hazy with sleep and deep loving. Sad but with a
loving smile on your face. Will you give me that gift?”

She nodded and somehow summoned a smile, although in truth,
she felt close to breaking into tears. Still, she held the smile and put into
it all she felt for him: her respect, honor, adoration, and her love.

He returned it with one of his own, leaving her with a
vision of him standing tall and straight, blond hair falling around his strong,
handsome face, smiling at her though she was sure she detected the shine of a
tear in his gray eyes. He moved then, turning for the door but stopping for one
last glance at her, and for a moment he was silhouetted against the light
coming through the window: a tall man, shoulders braced to carry a burden,
muscles tensed and alert. A warrior preparing for battle, for an unknown
future. Alone and strong, ready to bear with grace whatever fate granted him.

And then he was gone.

She got down on her knees and prayed for the success of his
mission, for his safety and that of all those accompanying him into battle, for
the overthrow of Sir William and the end of his evil ambition, and for
Jeoffrey’s future, that whatever it held, he might find some measure of peace
and happiness. Though she thought it selfish to pray for her own desires, she
nonetheless threw in a request she, too, might find her way to some level of
contentment.

Then she dressed hastily, climbed to the top of one of the
staircases leading to the battlements, and went out. Others were there already,
waiting to watch their lord and his men depart. Moments after she arrived, he
rode out, dressed now in bright armor from head to foot. It gleamed in the
morning sun, lending him the look of a being from beyond. The glints shooting
from their mail dazzled her eyes. Two dozen knights accompanied him. She
thought the one on Jeoffrey’s immediate right might be Sir Philip, but she
couldn’t know for a certainty.

They rode off to the southwest and all too soon disappeared
into the distance.

The next two weeks included some of the longest days of her
life. She’d thought the endless, empty time in Sir William de Railles’ dungeon
had been interminable, but as she waited and wondered what was happening to
Jeoffrey and the others, she found an agony clawing at her gut she couldn’t
ignore.

Fortunately there was plenty to do around the manor,
cleaning up after the guests, putting everything back in order, replacing
broken items, renewing supplies, catching up on the manor’s paperwork. Since
Jeoffrey had left her in charge of the manor’s affairs in his absence, she took
care to ensure all was kept in order. Sometimes the work helped deflect her
thoughts away from the images of battle and the dread possibility Jeoffrey
might be wounded or killed. Even though she knew he would never again be hers as
he’d been for their eight brief weeks together, she would feel happier about
her world knowing he lived in it.

Speculation, of course, was one of the chief topics of
conversation in the manor, with most of the staff vowing their lord couldn’t
possibly fail since he was the strongest, noblest, most valiant and stalwart
man any of them knew. Their loyalty was heartwarming but did little to relieve
her anxiety.

They reviewed Jeoffrey’s entire life, from the moment of his
birth, through his childhood until he was sent off to be fostered, his
occasional return visits home, and finally his taking up residence again
following his father’s death. Anecdotes were shared: pranks he’d pulled as a
youngster, ways he’d shown his concern for others, clever things he’d said,
scrapes he’d gotten into, and the beatings he’d received from his father in
payment of them. They painted a vivid picture of the bright, strong,
adventurous child he’d been and foreshadowed somewhat the more restrained and
cautious man he’d become.

In conversation with them, she shared information and
anecdotes of her own upbringing, and found in doing so, remembering the joyful
times helped soften the sharpest pain of the loss of her family. The entire
staff of the manor treated her now with friendliness mixed with respect. The
respect they’d have offered their lady.

In other ways they deferred to her as the lady of the manor
as well, waiting on her to signal the beginning of meals, consulting with her
over supplies and purchases, bringing disputes to her for resolution, and on
one memorable occasion, calling upon her to hear a petition for redress. Though
she attempted to put off dealing with that situation, suggesting it would be
more fitting to await their lord’s return, Elspeth, Ferris and Chrestien all
protested it shouldn’t be allowed to wait and insisted she consider and render
judgment on the issue.

As she listened to the complaint against one of the
assistant grooms for initiating a fight with another young man that had left
the latter with a black eye, bleeding nose, and a bump on his head, she
understood why Jeoffrey hated this part of his responsibility. She questioned
as many people as she could, sought out opinions on the character of the
accused young man, and asked both participants for their versions of the
incident. It required a significant weighing of evidence on her part, since the
two told very different stories, a balancing of the facts she knew against
their stories and what she learned of their characters. In the end she had to
decide for the boy’s guilt, though not without some agonizing and misgivings
over whether she judged truly.

Those doubts tormented her even more when she ordered the
boy to receive a dozen strokes with the strap. He took it badly, protesting his
innocence and resisting getting down on the bench. Rosalind walked over to his
side, put a hand on his arm, and said, so quietly only he could hear, “I hope I
have made no mistake in this, but justice must be served, and you will be much
more admired at its conclusion, do you conduct yourself with a man’s courage
and dignity now.”

The young man glared at her, but nodded sharply and took his
punishment with no further complaint or protest. When it was concluded and
Chrestien had restored his clothes and reached down to raise him from the
bench, Rosalind again moved to his side. She leaned forward to kiss him on the
forehead and proclaimed as loudly as she could the incident was closed and
would not be mentioned again. The boy’s angry glare softened and shifted to
puzzlement as he watched her. Then he turned and left the room, back held
straight, eyes hard.

As the week of Lord Jeoffrey’s absence stretched to a
fortnight, everyone grew edgy and worried. Each time the sentries reported the
approach of a newcomer on the road, excitement surged and folks gathered to
greet the callers in hopes their lord returned. Three times though, the visitor
proved a tradesman come to deliver supplies or a wandering tinkerer.

Nerves were stretched and the tension near to unbearable by
the time an approaching cloud of dust resolved into the shape of a man clad in
dusty, dented armor. Word went round the manor quickly. Anyone who could get
free of his or her work assembled in the courtyard with Rosalind to greet their
returning lord.

But the man who galloped in and was helped down from a tired
mount wasn’t Jeoffrey. It was Sir Philip.

He removed his helm and looked at the worried faces
surrounding him, eyes dark and face grim. A bruise swelled at his jaw and he
moved stiffly, suggesting other injuries not visible beneath his armor and
clothing.

But when he found Rosalind, he bowed as well as he could and
his face broke into a smile. “My lady, I rejoice to find you well.”

She curtseyed in return. “And I am relieved you return to us
whole as well, Sir Philip. But, pray, what news? How fares the battle? And my
lord?” She knew all heard the agony in her voice on the last question.

His smile grew broader. “Worry not, my lady. The battle is
won, Sir William is dead, and Lord Jeoffrey is off to the king to inform him of
our victory and reaffirm his allegiance.”

Cheers broke out among the throng, turning into wild hoots
of joy and celebration. People clapped each other on the back, jumped up and
down, yelled, and a few broke out into exuberant dances.

Relief made her knees go weak and breath come shallowly. “I
thank the Lord for it,” she said sincerely. Then seeing Philip sway with
exhaustion, she added, “Come within, Sir Philip, and let us refresh you. What
need you most immediately? Food, drink, a bath or sleep?”

“All of those, lady,” he said, with a laugh. “Food and
drink, first, then the bath, followed quickly by sleep. Assuming I can keep my
head up through the others.”

Several would-be squires gathered and assisted Sir Philip in
removing his armor, then he followed her inside to the great hall, where alert
servants were already bringing out wine and food for him. He moved slowly,
without the quick, lithe grace she’d become used to in him, and she wondered
what injuries he’d sustained and whether they required attention.

“No major wounds,” he answered when she inquired about it.
“A cut in my side has already been stitched and begins to heal. The rest be
just the normal bumps and aches attendant on battle. Though, in truth, it was
but a short, unequal battle.”

“How so?” Rosalind asked. “I know from my own experience
Railles was well fortified and had a sizeable force of men to defend it.”

“Aye, but a significant portion of his army was from the
fortress, taking Oswood at the time. The remaining force numbered just enough
to give us good contest for a short time before being overwhelmed. Jeoff
himself sought out Sir William and crossed swords with him. Again the contest
was barely equal, more equal than it might have been as Jeoff wore heavy armor
and William only his leathers. The extra weight negated some of Jeoff’s
advantage of quickness. Still, he prevailed and Sir William will trouble no one
further.”

“The Lord be praised,” Rosalind intoned. “But Oswood? How
fare they?”

His laugh held real amusement. “I see the hand of the Lord
in this affair, in truth,” Philip said. “The bulk of Oswood’s fighting force
was, of course, with Jeoff, taking Railles, so the remaining inhabitants
surrendered without a fight. Lord and lady and those close to them hid in some
secret hole prepared for the purpose, and evidently the conquering force found
them not and presumed them fled. They dared not vent their frustration on the
household staff Sir William might yet need it, so they returned to Railles.
Where, of course, they found us just settling in to wait for them. That battle,
too, was brief and concluded satisfactorily.”

“My Lord Jeoffrey is uninjured?”

“Save a few bumps and thumps similar to my own, he is quite
well.”

She thanked God silently this time. “And when might we expect
his return?”

“He has likely already concluded his initial business with
the king by now and proceeded to Barnston. I believe you know his purpose
there. From thence, he will return to Court, where I am to meet him again, to
finalize all the business attendant on the change of power. When all is
concluded satisfactorily, he will return here. He sent me to bring you this
notice now, though, to spare you further worry on his behalf.”

Rosalind nodded and folded the little hope she’d retained
into a secret recess of her mind where it must stay ever hidden. From the time
Jeoffrey had left, she’d avoided considering the question of whose suit to
accept, but now she must think on it and make her choice.

Once Philip had finished his meal, she accompanied him to
his own chambers, where a bath had been prepared. To his surprise she stayed to
assist him, rendering him the honor of a valued guest to be bathed by the lady
of the manor. She turned away while he stripped off the rough shirt and
breeches he’d worn under his armor, waiting for the betraying slosh of the
water as he climbed into the tub, before she came to him.

While running the soapy cloth over his chest, face and arms,
she couldn’t help but be reminded of her times assisting Jeoffrey in this way.
Philip was a fine-looking man himself, with broad shoulders, a lean but strong
body, and regular features. Not as handsome as Jeoffrey, of course. And in
truth, though she admired Sir Philip’s looks, she remained unmoved by them.

But more importantly, he was a fine man in every other
way—strong, honorable and good-hearted. He’d been a good friend to her. Had she
met him before she’d grown to love Jeoffrey, well, who knew…

He saw her expression and took her wrist in his hand as she
ran the cloth down an arm. “Lady Rosalind, if this causes you pain, pray feel
no obligation to continue.”

She stared at him, surprised she’d allowed her feelings to
show so openly. “Nay, Sir Philip, I apologize. ‘Tis an honor to assist you.”

“And you cannot help but wish I were Jeoffrey.” He sat up
straighter and moved his hand down along her arm to take her fingers in his.
“Did Jeoff tell you I had offered suit for you myself?”

She nodded. “He did and I am honored beyond words.” She
looked into Philip’s dark, deep blue eyes. “But I fear I must decline your
generous offer. I hold you in too much esteem to accept your suit.”

“How so, my lady?”

“Sir Philip, you be, without doubt, one of the finest men I
know. And you deserve better than a wife whose heart will ever be given
elsewhere.”