Joselyn had no idea what time it was when she was awakened by soft noises in her chamber. It was bright in the room, indicating the late hour. Lying curled up on her side, she opened her eyes to see that Stephen was very carefully attempting to remove his boots. She lay there, not moving a muscle, as she watched him pull off first one boot and then the other, very carefully setting them down against the wall. He was trying desperately not to make any noise but in his weary state, he was not doing a very good job. She could hear him grunting and groaning softly as the boots and tunic came off. Finally, she took pity on him.
“You grunt like an old bear,” she said softly.
He pulled the tunic over his head, grinning down at her. “Is that so?” he tossed the tunic into the corner. “And you snore like one”
Her head came up, a frown on her lips. “I do not snore.”
He laughed softly, going to open the door and issuing orders to a soldier that was near the landing. He called for hot water and food before shutting the door and bolting it.
“Aye, you do,” he made his way over to the bed somewhat stiffly. “You make a very sweet whistling sound. I find it very charming.”
He sat down beside her and she lay her head back down again, studying the fatigue on his handsome face. Though the cornflower blue eyes were glimmering, she could tell that he was exhausted, perhaps spiritually as well as physically. It had been a very long night for them both and she was hesitant to ask him too many questions about the siege, fearful that she would not like his answers.
“Is the battle over?” she finally asked.
He nodded, raking his hand through his black hair. “For now,” he replied. “Hopefully we’ve given the Scots pause to think next time they try to attack the city. I would hope that peace will hold out for a time so that the citizens can at least recover.”
She thought a moment on that. “Between the English attacking the city and the Scots counter-attacking, I would imagine that everyone has had their fill of war.”
“Everyone but the Scots,” he grunted. “The city is in shambles.”
She propped herself up on an elbow. “I would like to help those put out by the constant warring,” she put her hand on his enormous thigh. “There must be something I can do for the citizens of Berwick.”
He put his massive hand over her small one. “’Tis a noble thought, but you have plenty to do at the castle,” he said. “Moreover, the city is still a dangerous place. I do not want you exposed to the hazards of a rebellion. There is no knowing when the Scots will attack again.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “But I am Scots. They would not harm me,” she squeezed his hand. “These are my people, Stephen. They are in distress and I feel very strongly that I must help. The constant battles have surely left them in great need.”
He opened his mouth but a knock on the door interrupted them. He went to the door, opening it to admit two soldiers with a big iron pot of steaming water and Tilda bringing up the rear with a wooden tray of food. Stephen took the food and chased everyone from the room. Bolting the door, he set the tray down and collected a large piece of bread from it; taking a huge bite, he faced his wife.
“How would you help?” he asked, chewing.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Attend those who are injured, perhaps provide food to those who have none,” she ventured with a shrug. “I would help however I can. I simply cannot stay locked in this keep, well away from those who are fighting for young David’s cause.”
He swallowed the bite in his mouth, his cornflower blue eyes taking on a peculiar gleam. “When you married me, your loyalty became to England.”
She fixed him in the eye. “When I married you, my loyalty became to you and only you. But that does not mean I do not feel concern or pity for my people.”
He regarded her a moment before the warmth returned to the blue eyes. “Well put,” he said. “But can I at least have a few hours of peace myself before I have to delve into this subject?”
She grinned and rose from the bed, moving to the wardrobe that was against the wall, the one that she and the servants had moved down from the upper floor. “Of course,” she said. “Sit and eat your food and I shall help you bathe when you are finished.”
He grunted yet again as he sat on the bed, feeling his fatigue in every fiber of his body. Plus, he was old for a fighting man at thirty years and seven. His body had taken a lot of abuse over the years and he was beginning to pay the price. He devoured most of the bread, the cheese and all of the wine as Joselyn removed some items from the wardrobe. He watched her as she set out a few squares of drying linen and the bar of white soap that smelled like pine. It was his soap. He had provided it to her to wash with because he had nothing else to offer. He made a mental note to purchase sweet-smelling soap for his wife that she would like better than his manly pine.
Joselyn was very busy as Stephen ate his meal. She was clad in a heavy shift, one of the newer garments he had bought her, and she quickly donned the old broadcloth surcoat over it to work in. It was still dusty and dirty, having been one of the only garments she owned up until two days ago, but she did not want to get any of her new clothing wet as she helped her husband bathe. Due to her chores at Jedburgh, she was well versed in things like washing or bathing, although she’d never personally washed a man. But she did not experience a flicker of apprehension as she prepared to help Stephen wash. She was, in fact, eager to do something for him. The man had so far done all of the giving since she’d known him and she was eager to give back something in return, as small a gesture as it was.
In fact, since their conversation the night before when all horrors had been revealed, she was extremely eager to make a life with this man who seemed so capable of forgiveness and understanding. With every moment that passed she was learning the character of this man whom she had married and her sense of gratitude grew. She never imagined herself to be so fortunate and she was determined never to take one moment of her new life, or new husband, for granted.
The pot with warm water was big enough for Stephen to sit in if she put a three legged stool in it. She looked over at her husband as he finished the last of his bread.
“Do you have a razor?” she asked.
He nodded, dipping his head in the direction of his bags against the wall. “In there.”
“May I retrieve it?”
He nodded and she went to his bags, carefully pulling items out and setting them on the floor until she came to a long steel razor wrapped in heavy linen. She removed it, and a horsehair brush, and went back to prepare his bath.
“I am ready when you are, my lord,” she told him, putting a little water on the pine soap and working it into a heavy lather with the horsehair brush.
Stephen brushed off his hands, stood up, and removed his breeches. He went straight to the pot and climbed in, seating his bulk on the stool. It was a tight fit in the pot but manageable. Joselyn turned to him with an empty bowl in her hand, smiled, and went to work.
Stephen sat with his eyes closed as the warm water coursed over him. It was the most relaxing, wonderful sensation he could imagine. He let his mind clear of all thoughts except for those of Joselyn as she hovered next to him, carefully pouring water over his head and body. She doused him several times before picking up the lathered brush, the soap, and going to work.
Stephen grunted as she began to soap him within an inch of his life. She vigorously soaped his back, his chest and his arms. She used the brush to scrub the gore and dirt from his hands, under his nails, before softly commanding him to lift his arms, which he did, fearful that his docile wife had suddenly turned militant on him. She soaped his armpits, ribs and belly before he was allowed to put his arms down again. He had tried, once, and she had growled at him. So the arms went back up and he grinned broadly.
It was difficult to keep from laughing as she ordered him to stand up so she could wash the rest of him. He had a fairly significant arousal by this
time and had to bite off his guffaws as she tried to work, red-faced, around it. By the time she commanded him to sit back down again, her cheeks weren’t quite so red. She rinsed him off thoroughly over and over before picking up the brush again and lathering up his beard.
Stephen sat stock-still as she carefully shaved him. He was able to watch her at close range as she worked, the gentle curve of her face and the sweet bow of her lips. He found himself studying every pore on her skin and counting how many dark eyelashes she had. She had the most beautiful eyes. Finally, when he was clean-shaven, she wiped off his face and set the towel aside. Stephen thought she was finished until he felt her lathering his shoulders again. He was about to ask her what she was doing when she set the soap down, put her small hands on his shoulders, and began to rub.
He groaned and dropped his chin to his chest, wallowing in the pure pleasure of the massage. Her little hands applied gentle pressure as she rubbed away the knots that the burden of his command had created. It was heavenly.
“Good Christ,” he muttered. “Who taught you to do this?”
Standing behind him, Joselyn smiled modestly. “My mother used to do this for me when I was pregnant,” she said softly. “I was so miserable the entire time that she would do this for me to help me feel better. Do you feel better?”
He could barely nod, succumbing to extreme relaxation. “You have no idea how much better,” he mumbled. “Your hands are magic.”
“Thank you, husband.”
He reached up when her hand came close to his neck and grasped the hand gently, pulling it to his lips for a gentle kiss. But that was not enough for him and he pulled more insistently, pulling her from behind him so that she was standing next to him. His big hands cupped her face and he kissed her tenderly. Suddenly, his arms went around her and he was pulling her inside the tub.
Joselyn’s arms went around his neck, giving in to his tremendous strength, as he pulled her into the tepid water with him. Her broadcloth surcoat was wet but she didn’t care. Her focus was on her husband, his sweet kisses and his clean, pine-smelling body. It was all so new and exciting, this relationship they were beginning to share; where she once feared a man’s touch, now she craved Stephen’s. When he began removing her clothing, she didn’t protest. Soon enough, the broadcloth came off and the shift went over her head. Both ended up tossed into a corner.
Naked in his arms, she ended up straddling his lap, facing him, as his mouth and hands ravaged her. Stephen had managed to stoke a raging fire within her, one that caused her breathing to come in heavy gasps and her body to tremble. His great hands were on her breasts, followed by his mouth, and she gasped softly as he suckled first one nipple and then the other. His enormous arousal was between them, hard and throbbing, and he fingered her woman’s center gently, ensuring that she was wet enough for his entry. She was hot and slick, and it drove him mad. Taking her by the waist, he lifted her up and impaled her upon his demanding arousal.
The first thrust had him seated almost completely. Joselyn gasped at the swift, insistent entry and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding fast as he grasped her buttocks and held her firm as he thrust again. Holding her against his pelvis, he thrust into her repeatedly as her tight walls pulled at him, enjoying every withdrawal and every thrust with the greatest of pleasure. As delightful as it was, however, they were in a moderately awkward position on the stool and, still embedded in her, he rose and stepped out of the pot.
He had no idea how he made it over to the bed The next thing he realized, she was on her back on the mattress and he was driving into her hard enough to rattle her teeth. He thrust so hard that he ended up scooting her to the head of the bed and she put her hands up against the wall to prevent her skull from smacking into it. Stephen held her tightly, driving deep into her womb, feeling more power and sensation than he had ever known when she suddenly stiffened and he could feel her sugared walls spasm. She bit off a cry on her hand, biting down so hard that she left deep red welts. When Stephen felt his pleasure approach, he resumed kissing her, tasting her mouth as his seed spilled deep into her body.
He was still kissing her when his thrusts died completely, but his kisses were far gentler, more adoring, as if to convey the depth of emotion he was coming to feel for her. His hands moved over her body tenderly, inspecting the texture of her skin and memorizing the feel of her hard nipple in his fingers. He glanced up at her, seeing that she lay with her eyes closed and an arm over her eyes. He kissed her chin, fondling a breast, and she groaned with pleasure and wriggled her hips. He was still embedded in her body and the action from her hips stirred his lust again. In little time, he was hard again and he made love to her a second time, far more slowly and luxuriously, feeling her multiple releases before he joined her.
When it was over, Stephen fell into an exhausted sleep with his great head on Joselyn’s chest. He started snoring heavily almost immediately and she smiled faintly, knowing how fatigued the man was. Very carefully, she shifted so that she could grasp the coverlet and pull it up over them both without waking him. She jostled him slightly but he didn’t rouse. Pulling the coverlet up over them both and wedging a pillow under her head so she would be more comfortable, Joselyn wrapped her arms around Stephen’s head and neck and languished away the hours as he slept on her.
She couldn’t think of anything on earth she would rather do.
*
Stephen awoke just as the sun was setting and made love to his wife twice more before allowing her out of the bed. Even then, it was only because she begged to use the chamber pot. With a grin, he rolled onto his back, an enormous arm behind his head as he gazed out of the lancet window while Joselyn discreetly went about her necessities. When she finally emerged into his line of sight, she had pulled a shift on and a rich yellow surcoat that was marvelous with her dark hair. She looked like an angel. He gazed at her, sighing with appreciation. She smiled at him, running his horsehair brush, now dry, through her dark hair.
“It is approaching the evening meal,” she said. “Will you not rise and attend?”
“Will you be there?” he flirted gently.
She returned his flirt coyly as she brushed the ends of her hair. “I will be wherever you are, my lord.”
He grinned, lifting his right hand a crooking a finger at her. “Come here.”
She fought off a grin, gliding across the floor until she came within an arm’s length of the bed. “Aye, my lord?” He reached out and snatched her, causing her to fall across his chest. Her dark hair splayed across them both as his smoldering cornflower blue eyes bore into her.
“I must confess something,” he murmured.
“What is that?”
“I do not want to share you with anyone tonight.”
She blushed furiously. “But you must eat.”
He ran his hand through her hair, studying her lovely face pensively. “Perhaps,” he sighed, grasping her hair and bringing it to his nose. “But more than that, I am reluctant to admit that I do have duties that I must attend. I do not want to leave you.”
“What duties?”
He wriggled his eyebrows. “It has been a few hours since the end of a particularly nasty assault against the city and castle. I must see how things have settled.”
She cocked her head. “Settled?”
“To see if anything has changed. To assess the state of the city and castle.”
“Oh,” she nodded in understanding, watching him smell her hair. “May I come with you as you go about your duties?”
He went from smelling her hair to touching her face. “I am sure they would not interest you.”
“Please?”
He opened his mouth to refuse her but gazing into her lovely, eager face, he found that he could not. He wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. The more time he spent with her, the more he never wanted to be separated from her.
“Very well,” he nodded with resignation. “Finish dressing and get your shoes on.”
>
With a grin of triumph, she leapt off the bed and furiously finished brushing her hair. Stephen watched her a moment before tossing the coverlet off his naked body and digging into his bags for a clean pair of breeches. As Joselyn braided her hair in a single braid that draped elegantly over one shoulder, Stephen pulled on his breeches, and unfurled a clean tunic. He pulled it over his head, adjusting the sleeves on his big arms, all the while watching Joselyn as she tied off the end of her braid and went on the hunt for her slippers. She was an enrapturing creature to watch.
Stephen sat down to pull on his massive knee-high boots. He didn’t even realize his eyes never left Joselyn as she moved quickly about their chamber. He found himself memorizing the way she moved, every fluid shift of her body. It was magic.
Her shoes were finally on and she planted herself in front of him, the pale blue eyes glittering expectantly.
“Well?” she said in the same tone she had used when she had ordered him to lift his arms in the bath. “Where is our first destination?”
He suppressed a smile and rose from the bed, towering over her. “The walls.”
“Then let us waste no more time.”
“Aye, General.”
She grinned at him, watching his smile break through and then laughing at him. He took her hand and led her from the bower, from that magical chamber that had provided them with hours upon hours of discovery. It was a safe haven for them, a retreat, and a place of worship. Stephen shut the door behind them, looking forward to their return to the chamber.
The sky was splashed with shades of blue and purple as they entered the bailey. It had been a warm day and the ward was dusty, dogs running about and soldiers going about their duties. Clouds of dust billowed up from their feet as they moved across the bailey. The hall was lit and inviting, and they could see people inside as Stephen took her to the wall. From the vantage point high above the city, the views at sunset were spectacular but for the devastation below.
Mounting the top of the stairs and stepping onto the wall, Joselyn paused at her first clear vision of Berwick since the many battles over the past month had ravaged it. From her position, she could see that certain sections of the city were fairly untouched and smoke rose from cooking fires in those areas. But a vast area of the city was burnt and destroyed. Life, as far as she could determine, did not exist there. It was a sobering reality, one she hadn’t truly grasped until this moment.
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 14