Yearning Heart (10 page)

“Bundy.” She tried to protest and grunted as Stephen found the entrance to her body and pushed himself deep inside her.

He lay still, partially raised on his elbows, staring into her face. “If Bundy does not know a husband and wife do such things, it is time he learned.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She couldn't explain to Stephen why she insisted on ‘my lord,’ could not tell him it was her substitute for ‘my love’ when he was inside her. It was a part of the odd yearning she felt so often.

“Rebecca.” He spoke her name with strength, and then forgot what he was going to say. He moved in and out slowly at first, then more quickly, and then buried his face in her hair to muffle the uncontrollable shout as he drove himself time after time into her softness.

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Chapter Six

Rebecca was unhappy.

“You'll be away for Christmas, Stephen? But, ‘tis our first one together.

Surely...”

He leaned across the corner of the table where they were eating hot bread with honey and cupped her small chin in one big hand.

“ ‘Tis the king and queen's wish I attend their Christmas celebrations since it is one of the few times they are at the royal palace together. You may travel with me if you like.” He smiled as her eyes widened and became bottomless blue lakes.

“Oh, could I?” She frowned. “I have no clothing suitable. My wedding dress would not...”

“No, it would not. You will pack only what you need for the journey, and we will purchase suitable clothing for you.” His eyes teased as they swept her breasts, fuller now than a year ago and pushing impudently against the blouse she wore. “It would seem it is time to do so.”

She blushed, following his glance, and felt the warmth through her body as though he touched her. Several times lately, for no reason, she recalled the afternoon they made love in the stables. Since that day, she could not smell the pleasant aroma of fresh hay without remembering his fierce possession of her body, or her own response. The strangeness inside her was new. She did not recognize the gentle ripples of feeling he left after loving her.

For days afterwards, she would catch herself smiling and would run her hands lightly over her body, almost feeling Stephen's hands caressing, searching, and exploring her most intimate parts. A delightful shivering sent waves of strange sensations racing through her body. They were satisfying, whatever they were, and she liked to think of them—and she wanted more.

“May I have a gown such as fancy ladies wear?” she said.

“Several, if you want them, Rebecca.” He watched her lively expression. “You should buy clothing enough so you may visit Sir Oliver and Lady Elizabeth as soon as the weather improves.”

“And Richard.” Rebecca leaned her elbows on the table. “Oh, I really would like to see Richard.”

Stephen's brows climbed. “What about Lord and Lady Grinwold?”

She shrugged. “Yes.”

He didn't miss the brief look of hurt that surfaced before she looked down at her plate. Rebecca had not forgiven Sir Oliver for trading her to pay a gambling debt, or Elizabeth for letting her go without protest. She never spoke of home, did not mention missing her parents, and did not refer to the bargain that had made her his wife.

Stephen continued to look at Rebecca. Mayhap she did not forgive him for accepting her in exchange for his lien against her father's land holdings.

A pang of sympathy caused him to sit up straight. What was the child thinking? She didn't whine or complain. She came into his arms when he demanded it of her, but she had never offered herself to him of her own free will. When he cried out passionately, whispering emotional words as he claimed her body, she responded by holding him tightly. Other women he had made love to might shout or cry out or moan or call his name, but Rebecca seldom made a sound.

The one exception, he recalled, was the day he'd practically eaten her alive. That day, she'd cried out his name, her body had writhed in response, her arms had held tightly. She'd been everything he could want in a woman, returned hot kiss for hot kiss, until they both moaned, until both bodies had sizzled with pent-up emotions. He couldn't remember ever being as satisfied as after that coupling. His body hardened at the memory.

Strange child, he thought now as she rose to leave the table. He got up and followed her, turning once to glance at Malvina who had stopped in the doorway of the food preparation room. When he walked on toward the stairway, he found Rebecca waiting for him, deep blue eyes swinging from him to Malvina. A strange thrill shot through his heart at the look in her eyes and familiar heat raced through his already aroused body.

Inside Rebecca's bedroom, he hesitated.

“May I stay?”

“I am yours, my lord.”

Eyes glinting darkly, he strode to where she stood and looked down into the upturned innocent face. He sat on the edge of the bed and yanked her across his knees, pulling her skirt up as he did so.

“I promised you this, Rebecca,” he said, “if you could not learn to call me by my name.”

He smacked her bare bottom three times before she could utter a protest, then he shoved her off and grasped her shoulders to hold her up to him.

“Yes, you are mine, but I am
not
your lord. I am Stephen, and I am your husband.”

He pulled her roughly into his arms, his lips closing over hers, opening and closing again, feeling the softness of her full lips, the wetness of her open mouth. Even as he closed his eyes against the sight of her startled expression, he could see the pale roundness of her bottom, the pinkness left by the striking of his big hand on firm flesh. The memory set flame to his desire, and he was forced to remind himself to be gentle with her, else his roused passion would punish Rebecca rather than please her. He bit along her jaw, her ear lobe, his tongue roughly caressing her throat, dipping beneath the low neck of her blouse.

He hooked two fingers into the material and ripped it. The fullness of her breasts hung invitingly near, and he unhesitatingly fastened his mouth over the brown circle with the tiny nubbed center.

“Ah-hh-h.” He moaned and covered her with lingering licks, sucked hard, then kissed gently. She clung to him, one hand holding his head against her, and he heard her tight gasps of breath.

He pushed her onto the bed, yanked her skirt away and lay on top of her. His hands slid along her sides to the flare of her hips, his thumbs moving over her belly down to her thighs. Raising himself, he moved his hands until his thumbs met over her belly, then slowly lowered them until they rested over the silky fur triangle between her legs. He parted the soft flesh, letting the edges of his fingers press into the fresh moistness of the opening.

He feasted his eyes on the picture in front of him, lifted his gaze to meet the languid expression on Rebecca's face, and inched upward so their bodies met thigh to thigh.

“Put me inside of you.” His command was a hoarse whisper.

She hesitated, her tongue whisking over her lips to leave a moist shine.

“Do as I ask, Rebecca. Do it now. I cannot last much longer.”

Her hands slid from his shoulders, along his bare chest to the flatness of his hard stomach. There she encountered the huge pulsing organ.

Stephen closed his eyes.

“Yes. That is the way. Now, now ... please.”

He wanted to go slowly, told himself to wait, but with each passing moment, it became more difficult.

He had never begged for her caresses before, and Rebecca stared at the strained expression on his face, unaware of his inner fight to be tender, at least this one time, be tender in his possession of her. She closed her fingers around him, and they gasped together, he in ecstasy, she in surprise at the smooth feel of her husband's hardness.

“I will help you,” he said. “Just, just ... yes, ah-ahh-aaah.”

It took a long time for him to settle completely inside her, Rebecca thought, touching his face easily, tracing her fingers through his beard, and placing her hands on his shoulders once more. He filled her, but still he strained to go deeper, pushing his hips down, down, until she was sure her print would be forced into the mattress.

He cupped her hips, holding her so that they were as though nailed together, not room for a breath of air between their bodies. Then he began to move, slowly, slowly, but only for a moment.

“Rebecca, Rebecca.” His entire body quivered, and then he was lost, his pulsing, blood-filled instrument beyond control. “Put your legs over me, help me, give me all of you. Move with me.”

“I can't ....”

“Yes. Yes, you can. Do it. Now.” He ground his teeth together, straining to withhold his final plunge, knowing he couldn't last.

She brought her legs up and moved her hips, then stared into his face, and saw sweat on his brow.

“Oh.”

“Oh, yes, oh, Rebecca.” His mouth crushed hers and he plunged time and again until he exploded, flooding her with his hot juices.

Their bodies shuddered and shuddered until finally Stephen collapsed on her. Rigid jerks continued for a time, and then he gave a long drawn-out sigh and lay still.

Beneath him, Rebecca continued to hold his shoulder, sliding her fingers over the hard smooth flesh, somehow enjoying just the feel of Stephen inside of her. Her body vibrated from the sting where he had swatted her to the tips of her fingers. It would be nice to sleep like this.

It did not last long, the quiet enjoyment of his body. He began to move inside her once more and this time, he didn't have to urge her to move with him. She moved in rhythm with him, her legs across his hips, meeting each thrust with her own, delighted at the power she had to satisfy her husband.

She heard his rough gasp and opened her eyes to stare into the tense face above hers. He smiled and his mouth came hard on hers, tongue thrusting into her mouth, his moans echoing in her throat. He made a last deep plunge, holding fast as he filled her with his hot seed.

* * * *

“You travel to London with Sir Stephen?” Malvina smoothed the heavy wool skirt she was packing for Rebecca. “You will be in the royal court at Christmas time?”

“Yes.” Rebecca brushed at the blonde tangle of hair she had unpinned, wondering what she would do with it to curb its wildness when she met the king and queen. She turned to Malvina, holding the long fall away from her head. “Do you not think I should cut a little from this?”

“Sir Stephen prefers long hair.”

“For truth, Malvina?”

She eyed the thick length of deep rust-colored hair on her maidservant's head. Really, she envied Malvina. Her own hair was fine as silk and the color of grain as it ripened, separating in strands across her thin shoulders if not braided properly.

I suppose you know he prefers long hair because you keep yours just for him, she thought as she turned to look once more into the mirror. Stephen liked to play with her hair after he made love to her. Did he do the same to Malvina? She winced away from the thought. She could not bear to think of her husband with her maidservant.

Sometimes she was certain Stephen went to the door near his room, the locked door. Was Malvina there waiting for him? She wondered, but she did not ask. She did not look. She did not wish to know.

“It would be easier to arrange were it shorter,” she said. “If I had a dressmaker's shears.”

She didn't have shears, so what was the use of thinking? She twisted her hair into a thick rope and wound it around her head, pinning it tightly, then turned to find Malvina watching her, green eyes bright with the strange look Rebecca had seen before.

“Rebecca?” Her husband's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Malvina moved to the door and opened it to admit Stephen. He stooped to prevent bumping his head and smiled as he moved towards her.

“We are ready to leave.”

“Malvina has everything ready to go on the carriage.” She watched the maid as she fastened the clothes case.

“A pleasant journey, my lady,” Malvina said when they reached the outside. She stood back as Stephen took Rebecca's arm and helped her into the carriage.

Rebecca waved to Aubin who sat on the driver's seat, straight and neat in his gold-braided waistcoat, his scarred face twisted with the familiar happy expression he wore when about to drive his master's carriage on a trip to London. Today, even more so.

Rebecca settled into her side of the coach, thrilled at the thought of the trip with Stephen. It had been a long time since her last visit to London, only once since she was in school, and that had been one of the times mama didn't have any money to spend because Sir Oliver had gambled it away. This would be different. New clothing, Stephen said, to wear to the Christmas celebrations and to meet the king and queen.

“Will I really meet Queen Eleanor?” She was almost bouncing with happiness.

“Yes. And King Henry.”

She hesitated over her next question. Stephen did not encourage questions about his work, but she knew part of his job as the king's trusted manorial officer was to work to keep the royal couple from quarreling. Most of the quarrels were over their children, but a lot were over the king's lady friends.

“Do the king and queen quarrel during Christmas, Stephen?”

“They always quarrel, Rebecca. I do not think they could abide each other without doing so, but do not worry, little one. We will keep them separated as much as is possible so quarreling will not be easy.”

“Is it true what the London gossips say?”

“And where do you hear what gossips say in London when you live a great distance from them?”

“Malvina has a cousin who has a cousin working in the royal courts and a letter now and then tells about the king and a lady friend.” She glanced from beneath long lashes at him. “A lady friend who is not Queen Eleanor.”

His hand rested on the wool mantle covering her lap. “Do not heed gossip, Rebecca. Especially do not heed gossip about the king and queen.”

“But they are the best subjects, are they not?”

He nodded. “Still, do not pass along words you do not know to be true. We are subjects of the king, and we owe our loyalty and our lives to him. Is this not true?”