“Thank you,” she murmured, reaching for a second pastry, which she devoured as quickly as the first. She peered at the dishes, and seeing a long dish she began picking asparagus in a lemony sauce from it, sucking the meat from the stalks, and licking her lips as she finished each stem of the vegetable.
He felt his member tingling as he watched her and quickly looked away, taking up next a small haunch of venison, tearing the meat from the bone with his strong white teeth. The venison was flavorful and chewy. He drank more wine. He could never recall in all his life eating with a naked woman. Well, why not? They were man and wife in the privacy of their own chambers. And then, unable to restrain himself, he casually pulled off the toweling around his loins.
The sound of the toweling hitting the floor caused Philippa to look up. Her eyes met his, sliding slowly down his long and lean body. Then she shrugged, and reached for a piece of capon. They were both still standing at the sideboard, not having bothered to sit in their hunger. Having satisfied themselves somewhat with the oysters, the meat, and the asparagus, they tore the warm cottage loaf apart. Philippa scooped some butter from the crock, smearing it over the bread with her thumb. Then to her surprise he took it from her, and pulling little pieces from the chunk he began to feed her. She reciprocated, putting bits of the cheddar cheese into his mouth. He sucked on her fingers, and she then sucked on his.
He took the bowl of strawberries, the bowl of clotted cream, and a small jug of honey and set them on the floor before the fire. Then reaching up he drew her down, and kissed her slowly before laying her on her back. Philippa watched him silently as he placed a dab of the clotted cream on each of her nipples, and topped it with a strawberry. He then smeared her torso with the cream and strawberries, and began to eat them one by one from her belly, licking her completely free of the cream. The two little fruits on her nipples he saved for last, sucking on her flesh until she was squirming.
Finally he spoke. “Did you like what I did to you earlier?” His hot breath tickled her ear.
She knew exactly to what he referred. “Aye,” she said low. “But I am certain it is very wicked, Crispin.”
“Aye,” he drawled softly, “it is very wicked.” He nibbled at her lips. “I can show you another way to be wicked, little one. Do you want to be wicked with me?”
She nodded eagerly, and then watched wide-eyed as he took the small jug of honey and dipped his partly swollen manhood into it. Drawing it out, he sat lightly atop her and pressed himself against her lips. They opened, and her pink tongue began to lick the honey from it, but because the thick sweet was beginning to drizzle with the warmth of his body he pushed himself into her mouth. For a moment Philippa looked startled, but then she began to suck on him until she had removed every vestige of the honey, and he had grown hard in the cavern of her mouth. She released him finally, and sliding down and between her legs he began to pump her fiercely.
Philippa’s nails raked down his long back. She whimpered, and her whimpers grew into a moan which grew into a scream of total pleasure as he thrust himself back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until her head was spinning wildly, and she was dizzy and weak with the hot pleasure coursing through her. I love him! I love him! she thought, but she would not say it, for he had not said it.
Their bodies were wet with the passion of their efforts. He ground himself deep into her love channel. He felt her shuddering as she reached the apex of her delight, and yet she did not cry her love for him. Was she incapable of that tender emotion, or had she just a whore’s nature? He didn’t know, and right now he didn’t care. His juices burst forth again, leaving him weak and helpless to his love for her.
They remained before the fire for some time. Outside the dusk faded into evening. The birds ceased their calls, and the rain pattered gently down with only an occasional rumble of thunder or brief flash of lightning now. The earl of Witton finally got to his feet, and reaching down, pulled Philippa up. Together they walked into their bedchamber and fell into bed where they slept until well after dawn the next day.
Philippa awoke first, and heard the sounds of morning outside of their window. She lay quietly pondering the events of the previous evening. I have to go back to Friarsgate, she thought. I cannot bear not understanding all of this. I need my mother. She smiled to herself, thinking that she had never thought to hear herself say such a thing, but this love was totally confusing. She slipped from the bed, and walking across the chamber brought forth from the warm coals of the hearth the pitcher of water that Lucy had left them. Pouring some into the silver ewer, she washed herself free of the residue of their shared passion. Then she disposed of the water, throwing it out the window.
He stirred slowly, watching her as she opened her trunk and pulled on a clean chemise. Watched her as she sat down at the little table that held her female fripperies, and taking up her brush began to brush her long auburn hair, carefully working through the knots and tangles until her hair was a shining silken swath. “Good morrow, countess,” he finally said.
Philippa turned, smiling. “Good morning, my lord. There is water for bathing.” She gestured gracefully towards the other table.
“Did you not bathe me well last night, little one?” he said low.
She actually blushed. “My lord,” she remonstrated with him.
He laughed. “The next time I shall drizzle honey on you, and lick it off.”
“Crispin, you really are wicked,” she said, but she was smiling with the hot memories of honey, and strawberries and cream.
The next few weeks were wonderful. They traveled his estate together on horseback. He made love to her in a pile of hay in a distant meadow, and almost had his bottom bee-stung for his trouble. Philippa had laughed so hard that she had wept. He explained the workings of his estates to her. They walked the three streets of Wittonsby, stopping at each cottage to greet their tenants and speak with them. The nights were filled with pleasure and passion. And then the world intruded upon them.
A messenger arrived at Brierewode. He wore the badge of Cardinal Wolsey. The earl of Witton was ordered to attend upon the cardinal at Hampton Court. The king was now on his summer progress in Wiltshire and Berkshire. The queen had gone to her favorite, Woodstock. The king would come to Oxford in September to fetch the queen.
“It is almost mid-August,” Philippa protested. “We must leave for the north if I am to be there for my sister’s wedding. Why does he want you? Are you not finished with that part of your life?”
“I am,” Crispin said, “but I cannot refuse the cardinal. He speaks with the king’s voice, little one. I must go. We shall travel north as soon as I return.”
“When will that be?” she demanded to know.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Why do you not prepare for our travels while I am away? Peter will pack for me.”
“He is not coming with you?” she asked.
“The cardinal has some scheme or business he wishes to discuss with me, Philippa. I do not need a valet with me. I will ride quickly with my men, and return as quickly. The cardinal knows I cannot serve him any longer. If the truth be known I am not certain how long he will remain in favor. He has been the king’s own man for many years now, little one,” the earl told his wife. “No one retains a king’s favor forever.”
“If you are not back in seven days I shall travel north without you,” Philippa said.
“You will remain here at Brierewode until I return, little one,” he replied. “I have told you that you will go to your sister’s wedding, and I always keep my promises. But if you disobey me, so much the worse for you, Philippa. I will be the master in my own house, madame. Do you understand me?”
The earl departed the following morning with the cardinal’s messenger and a small troop of his own men-at-arms for protection. Reaching Hampton Court, he was kept waiting for two days until the cardinal could see him. Wolsey was very busy in his master’s service even as the king was on progress. Ushered into the cardinal’s presence at last, the earl of Witton bowed and was waved to a chair. He sat, and waited.
“I need your eyes and ears again, my lord,” the cardinal began.
“I can be of no help to your grace in the country,” the earl replied, “and my estates are where I intend remaining. At least until my wife and I have heirs. I apologize, your grace, but I am past thirty, and I cannot get an heir on Philippa if I am not at Brierewode. The king would understand, I know.”
“It is the king’s business I am about, Witton,” the cardinal said sharply. “What I say to you this day must not be repeated. Buckingham and Suffolk and several others are under suspicion. Some of those involved with them, men of lesser rank, are your neighbors. Henry Tudor has no male heir. There are some who would attempt to overthrow the Tudor throne and put another in its place. Buckingham descends from Edward III. He and his ilk have always been ambitious. And it is said by some that his claim is stronger than the king’s.”
“It would be foolish to voice such a thought aloud, your grace,” the earl replied.
“Aye, but then the court is peopled by foolish men. You must be my eyes and ears in Oxford, my lord. I need a man I can be certain of, Crispin.”
“Suffolk? But he is the king’s friend. His brother-in-law,” the earl mused.
The cardinal laughed a harsh laugh. “He married Mary Tudor without the king’s permission, didn’t he? And remained in France until his wife had gained her brother’s forgiveness, didn’t he? Suffolk has no loyalties except to himself.”
“So all you seek of me is to report anything I hear which might cause the king difficulty, your grace?”
“That is all,” the cardinal replied. “I did not dare trust my wishes to parchment lest it be read by the wrong people. Even I have spies in my household, although I do try to have them weeded out regularly. You are not the only one recalled to my secret service, my lord.” Then he engaged the earl’s gaze and said, “And how is your fair wife? Is she proving satisfactory? Was Melville worth the wench?”
The earl of Witton smiled, and nodded. “Aye, it was, and she is proving most satisfactory as a mate. Her mother and the queen taught her well.”
The cardinal nodded. “Then go home, Witton, and my thanks for coming,” he finished. “I know I can trust in you.”
Crispin St. Claire stood up, bowed, and left the cardinal’s privy chamber immediately. It was not yet the noon hour. There was no need to remain. He gathered his men up, and they took the road to Oxford. Arriving home several days later, however, the earl of Witton learned that his wife had departed two days previously for her mother’s home at Friarsgate. He swore angrily, and Mistress Marian looked askance.
“My lord!” she exclaimed, having never heard him utter such foul words before. She waved to one of the servants in the hall to bring their master a goblet of wine.
The earl snatched it from the servant and drank it down. “How did she go?” he asked his housekeeper. “Who was with her?”
“Lucy and my brother among others, my lord, but they did ride with six men-at-arms. It was all she would take, and Peter had to insist at that. I do not know what possessed her ladyship, but from the moment you departed she grew more and more agitated. She told me that she had to see her mother. That she needed her mother, my lord. I think she would have gone the day after you left but that Lucy dissuaded her.”
“What did she take with her?” the earl asked Mistress Marian, growing a little calmer now.
“She took nothing but a small saddlebag, my lord. She said that Friarsgate was not a place for fancy gowns, and she needed to get there quickly. She could not be kept by a baggage cart trailing behind her. What will she wear to her sister’s wedding, my lord? I cannot believe the wedding will not be a grand one,” Mistress Marian fretted.
“Lord Cambridge will supply her with a gown, I have not a doubt. His family, especially my wife, seem to rely upon him for such things.”
“You have ridden long, my lord. Come to the board, and I will see that you are fed,” the housekeeper coaxed her master.
“I must ride north,” he said grimly.
“Aye, my lord, you must, but it will soon be dark. The days are shorter now than a few weeks ago,” Mistress Marian said. “A good supper, and a good night’s sleep in your own bed, my lord, and you will be ready to go in the morning.” She gently drew him to the high board, signaling the servants to hurry to the kitchens for food.
“Ah, Marian, though she drives me to distraction I love her,” the earl said softly.
“I know, my lord, and she loves you too,” the housekeeper replied, seating him.
“She has never said it,” the earl said mournfully.
“Have you told her that you love her, my lord?” Mistress Marian asked. “A woman will never say those words to a man unless he has said them to her first.”
The earl put his head in his hands. “I am a fool,” he groaned.
“Most men are, my lord,” the housekeeper replied low, with the familiarity of a trusted and well-loved servant. “But she has not left you, my lord. And there is time to correct your omission.”
“But why would she not wait?” the earl asked.
“I do not know,” Mistress Marian responded, “but it was suddenly very necessary for her ladyship to leave Brierewode and go back to her mother. Now here is a nice hot rabbit pie for you. It’s just come from the ovens. I want to see every bit of it eaten, my lord. And there is bread, and butter and cheese. And I think there might be an apple tart to finish the meal.”
He looked up gratefully at her. “Tell the men we ride tomorrow for Cumbria.”
“Yes, my lord,” the housekeeper said with a small smile, and she bustled off.
She was right, of course. He felt better after a good meal. And even better in the morning after a sound sleep in his own bed. With Peter gone he had one of the other men pack for him, and he took one pack animal with them. Perhaps they might even catch up with his headstrong wife before she reached Friarsgate.