Old Portia was silent a moment as she finished linking the gown and moved for the thick woolen hose to match. “I heard him singin’ last eve. The entire manse was captivated by his beautiful voice.”
Kira smiled faintly in remembrance. “He was singing to me, Portia. Only to me.”
The old woman pushed her onto the bed and helped her hike up the heavy hose. “Then ye told him.”
“Told him what?”
“That ye fancy him.”
Kira shrugged, rising to her feet as the hose were gartered about her supple thigh. “He told me of his interest first,” her baby-toned voice was soft. After a moment, she shook herself as if to test the verity of her lucid state. “I can still hardly believe it, Portia. He told me that he has thought of me for as long as our families have known each other. And last eve, he declared his intention to court me. It’s like… like a dream. A wonderful dream from which I never want to awaken.”
The old maid was silent a moment, excitement and dread filling her aged veins. She had prayed upon viewing the baron yesterday that the man would declare his interest for her young mistress, just as Kira struggled awkwardly with her own powerful emotions. It had been foolish for her to imagine the man to be unaffected by Kira’s beauty and spirit; still, she was immensely pleased to discover her foolish fears had been for naught.
In faith, she’d had very little time to speak to Kira last night regarding the company of Beckett du Reims, powerful and handsome son of the Earl of East Anglia. The young woman had been so completely exhausted that she had given into sleep before the old woman had a chance to press her for vital information. But now, Kira had opened the gates of divulgence. And Portia was eager to widen the gap.
“He’s the finest prospect that has ever come tae call,” the aged servant reiterated with approval. As Kira moved for her heavy riding boots, the old woman went to retrieve a net for her considerable mane. “Did ye… did ye speak with him, love? Were ye able tae come to know him somewhat?”
Kira slipped a boot on, her porcelain cheeks mottling a faint pink. “A little,” her voice was quiet as the other boot slid onto her foot. With both feet to the ground, she looked to the woman who had raised her since childhood. An ancient old crone who, in spite of her eccentric views of the world, was Kira’s most trusted confident. A woman who had taught her not to be ashamed of the nature of human qualities when all else taught restraint and modesty. “He… he kissed me, Portia.”
The old woman stared at her for a moment, her eyebrows lifting with controlled surprise and encouragement. “And?”
Lowering her gaze yet again, pensively more than with embarrassment, she rose from the edge of the bed. “And I liked it. He kissed me with his tongue, just as you have said men do. But it wasn’t as I thought it would be. It was… wonderful.”
Sliding into a state of awed wonder and vast delight, Portia lowered her weary body to a carved oaken chair as Kira finished dressing herself. In fact, as Portia became far more lethargic and pensive in the face of her young charge’s assertions, Kira seemed to emerge completely from her groggy morning condition. As the morning sunlight grew stronger against the stone windowsill, Kira came alive with excitement and glory for the day still to come.
“Wonderful, did ye say? I’m please ye think so,” Portia’s old voice was quiet as she eyed her beautiful young mistress. “Is… is that all he did tae ye, love?”
Kira shook her head hesitantly, the pink in her cheeks mottling a deeper hue. Casting the aged woman a sidelong gBeckett, she fumbled with her leather gloves. “Nay,” her soft voice was barely audible. “You… you were right, Portia. He didn’t believe my breasts to be too small, either. He said they were perfect.”
“Did he touch them?”
“Aye.”
“And ye were not a-feared?”
“Not at all. It was even more magnificent than his kiss.”
Portia digested the statement as Kira set her gloves to a small cherrywood table and collected the net for her hair. Standing in front of her polished bronze mirror, she collected her spun-gold mane and secured it with several pins. Engrossed and thoughtful though she might be at the startling turn of events since yesterday morn, Portia nonetheless forced herself from the comfortable chair to help Kira finish taming her hair.
When the hair was wound in a heavy bun and collected into the sturdy net of silk, Portia stared at her sweet young mistress through the reflection in the glass. Kira met the woman’s gaze, somehow suspecting that the subject of Beckett du Reims’s intimate actions was not yet concluded.
“Did he do anythin’ else tae ye, love?”
Kira shook her head, not fully understanding the question. “Nay… nothing more than kiss my mouth. And my breast.”
Portia nodded slowly. Then, she grasped Kira on either side of her fragile, porcelain-like head. Making sure the naive woman was meeting her wisened gaze as they stared at each other through the milky silver reflection. “I’ve told ye the rites of mating, Kira. Do ye remember what I said?”
Kira nodded. “I remember. And I’ve seen dogs mate, too.”
“’Tis different with a man and woman, love. Ye know that.”
“Of course I know. I merely used the example to illustrate that I’m not as completely ignorant as some. Why do you ask?”
Portia let go of her face, turning away from the misty mirror. “Because the baron is progressing rather rapidly, it would seem. Tae kiss ye with his tongue and tae kiss yer breast all in the same day is quite bold for my taste.” Pausing near Kira’s bed, she turned her gaze to the attentive, curious young woman. “Today, ye’ll be in the wood with the man. Alone, I would suspect, at some point. Mind that he doesn’t deflower ye upon the moldering leaves of the forest.”
Kira’s brow furrowed faintly. “Deflower me?” she repeated, shaking her head with disbelief. “He would do no such thing. He’s far too chivalrous and…”
“And smitten with ye,” Portia returned firmly. “Men will say or do anything tae gain their wants, love. I know how ye feel for the baron, but yer virginity must be for yer husband’s pleasure. Not yer dream lover.”
Kira’s mouth opened in outrage. “He will be my husband.”
Portia sighed heavily, hardly willing to voice her doubts in the matter, not when she too was completely hopeful of Beckett du Reims’s suit. But realistically, it was difficult to believe that Hugh would allow his only daughter to marry his Lancastrian liege. As much as she would pray and hope for the very same event, the verity of the truth was scarcely as bright.
And she could hardly imagine Hugh’s fury should his daughter be soiled by his Lancastrian enemy. Although the old woman was entirely thrilled at the prospect of the baron’s suit, candidly, she was inclined to bow to her well-formed, wisened opinions.
That Kira’s father would never let her go.
God’s Blood, how she prayed she was wrong.
“I pray that he will be yer husband,” she said softly. “But until yer vows are said before God, ’tis important to keep yerself pure. If Beckett du Reims is as determined tae have ye as I hope he would be, then he’ll appreciate your oath of celibacy.”
Somewhat confused, not to mention still moderately angered, Kira returned her attention to the hazy mirror, staring at her muted reflection pensively. After a moment, she gBeckettd to the old woman through the milky reflection. “Why are you lecturing me on the importance of purity now? You’ve always been quite free with your ribald advice and earthy tales.”
Portia shrugged slowly, turning to collect Kira’s matching woolen cape. “Ye were always quite appalled by my lectures; especially when the young men began tae call on ye. I knew ye held little interest in the panting masses, therefore, I knew ye’d keep yerself clean. The more they hounded ye, the more ye turned against the notion of physical contact.”
Kira cocked an arched eyebrow. “And now?”
The old woman fixed her with a straightforward gaze. “Yer obviously taken with the baron. I kn
ew it from the first. And sometimes our lust outweighs our common sense. Don’t give yerself tae the man simply because his beauty is blinding. If, in fact, ye don’t marry him, then it will make finding ye a proper husband extremely difficult. Not tae mention the fact that yer father will become infuriated. Please listen tae me, love; I’m only tryin’ tae protect ye from Hugh’s wrath.”
Kira pondered the old woman’s advice. After a moment, she averted her eyes and selected a small vial of beeswax on the table before her. Smoothing it over her lips to keep them protected against the weather, she moved away from the mirror.
“I’ll be his wife, Portia,” her tone was hoarse with emotion. How dare the old woman fill her head with sensual fantasies one moment and crush her dreams in the next. How dare she not support her in her hour of need! “You’ll see. I’ll be his wife for always.”
Collecting her cloak, she swept from the room in a billow of scarlet-colored wool. Portia’s ancient gaze lingered on the slight figure as she disappeared down the torch-lit corridor and faded from sight. Even then, she continued to stare into the smokey haze of the dark corridor, pondering the potential course of this day. Wondering if, in fact, Kira would heed her advice.
And not entirely surprised if she ignored her completely.
The entire hawking party, with the exception of her father, was assembled and waiting as Kira emerged from the warm safety of the manse. Immediately, her gaze sought out Beckett aboard his magnificent charcoal destrier and she smiled in the fading mist, meeting his eyes across the courtyard as if to confirm that the events from the previous day had not been a figment of her imagination. That the baron was real, tangible, and intent to pursue his most delectable desire.
For certain, Kira was determined to pursue hers. Drawing in his glorious vision in the distance, never in her young life had she beheld a more magnificent sight.
Surprisingly, he was without his armor. Clad in a sleeveless brown tunic with accompanying brown leather hose and massive boots, the sheer sight of his naked arms was enough to cause her head to spin in endless circles. Even as she descended the wide steps onto the moist earth of the bailey, he was vaulting from his horse and making way toward her. They met halfway across the moist, musky bailey, each devouring the sight of the other. Each feeling the magic stir yet again.
Each succumbing to their growing sentiment.
“Good morn, sunshine,” he said softly, his bass-toned voice rumbling the very ground beneath her feet. “Did you sleep well?”
She nodded, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Indeed, my lord. In fact, I was…”
Her soft, lilting reply was cut off by a firm voice, rugged and coarse. Thayer was suddenly within their private midst and her smile faded as she gazed into his eager, competitive face.
“Good morn to you, my lady,” he said pleasantly. Far more pleasant than he had been the evening before. “The falconer is preparing the hawks. Might I help you mount?”
Kira gazed into his ruddy, anxious face, seeing a good deal of the man she had met the day before within the privacy of Bedingfeld’s walled garden. A shy man, uncertain of himself, completely gentle and kindly. Although her heart softened somewhat, her benevolence wasn’t enough to accommodate his polite request.
“Thank you, Sir Thayer, but I believe the baron asked first.” Without hesitation or question, Beckett extended his thoroughly nude and wonderful elbow and Kira grasped it tightly. As Thayer’s face fell with the thrust of her rejection, her pity deepened toward the simple, timid man and her smile made a weak return. “But you may help me secure Hera. I would be grateful for your assistance.”
Suddenly, it was as if a rod of iron had plowed the path where Thayer’s backbone had once been lodged. He straightened dramatically, thanking Kira graciously for her consideration before dashing in the direction of the mews. Calling to several soldiers as he went, the young knight was as obedient as a well-trained dog and entirely eager to prove to the lady of his willingness, his respect, and his devotion.
His desperation.
“Quite accommodating, sunshine,” Beckett said softly, patting her hand as he led her toward her dappled palfrey. “If there is a God, surely the lout will slip in his haste and break his foolish neck.”
In spite of the exhilarating emotions fogging her senses and her mind, Kira managed to cast him a reproachful gaze. “Regardless of your misgivings, Thayer is a likable man. I rather enjoyed his company yesterday, before your arrival.”
He lifted his dark eyebrows. “My misgivings? He’s the one intent to court disaster, not I.”
She smiled, averting her eyes coyly. “And you have showed remarkable restraint with a man far less intelligent than yourself. I pray your self-control will continue throughout this day. I would hate to have our hawking jaunt destroyed by a headless man. Or, mayhap, a knight missing an arm or a leg. And what else did he say? Goring your opponent like a stuck pig through the groin?”
He grinned, sensing her playful humor at what could not have been an easy disclosure of information. Instead of wallowing in horror and distaste at the apparent legacy of the man known as The Champion, she was determined to make light of his most omnipotent skills. Certainly, it was better this way.
He didn’t want her dreams of him to become nightmares.
“I would do none of those things within your presence, my lady,” he responded gallantly. “For certain, I would wait until we were well out of your range.”
“Ah, then it is true,” she cocked an exaggeratedly disapproving eyebrow. “You are a brute. And a fiend. And you delight in the agony of others.”
His smile broadened at her completely scolding tone, humorous and entirely embellished. God’s Beard, the woman held charms powerful enough to coerce God himself into a life of lechery. “Alas, all that you say is true. I’m a completely evil, tormented man.”
They reached her palfrey and he gently lifted her onto the saddle, lingering over their tender contact. Sitting atop her gentle mare, Kira gazed warmly into his steel-gray orbs. “I like you that way, my lord.”
Smirking like a giddy young squire, Beckett met Kira’s gaze as the oddly ragged breathing once again possessed his mighty frame. Coming well to associate his panting respiration with Kira’s delicious company, he struggled to make his physical condition less-obvious.
“My thanks.” Still, he sounded oddly breathless.
Unaware of his unsteady breathing, Kira continued to smile coquettishly at the entirely beautiful knight as a servant interrupted the tender moment by handing her a thick leather glove. Accepting the heavy gauntlet, she moved to place it on her arm but was completely foiled by Beckett’s insistent aid. Holding her right arm aloft, she found herself gazing closely at his masculine profile as he secured the glove with deft fingers. Even when the protection was perfectly lodged, he continued to caress the leather as if to confirm the skill of his work.
“Good morn to you, my lady.” The third male suitor finally made an appearance and Kira tore her eyes away from Beckett, gazing steadily into Creston of Ashbourne’s green eyes. “The mist is nearly vaporized. It should be a fine day for hawking. Wouldn’t you agree, du Reims?”
Beckett nodded faintly, wishing his cousin would go away. “Indeed. A most beautiful day.”
Creston grinned, his gaze raking Kira boldly. “Would my lady allow me to ride with her? You and I hardly had a chance to speak last night with my cousin and his favorite nemesis verbally destroying the pleasant atmosphere.”
Creston was an amusing man, but hardly competition against his powerful cousin. Just as Thayer was sadly outmatched. Yet, oddly enough, Kira found herself entirely willing to accept his invitation, if for nothing more than to throw a bit of excitement and rivalry into Beckett’s substantial suit.
Succumbing to a feminine instinct as old as time itself, she was suddenly willing to inflamed Beckett’s solid petition with a bit of good-natured jealousy. With Thayer, such a thing was not possible. But with Creston, it was not only
possible, it was invited. Moreover, she had a valid reason for the provoked conflict; when Beckett decisively won his suit, hopefully it would be all the convincing Creston needed to end his most futile quest for the lady’s hand. Ending his determination without the cruelty of an open rejection.
Clearly, there could only be one winner and with Creston bowing to the inevitability of the baron’s power, it would make the subsequent elimination of Thayer’s competition that much easier.
Lowering her gaze in a flirtatious gesture, as she was quite practiced with her feminine mannerisms, Kira toyed with the leather reins in her hand. “Indeed, my lord. I would be honored to accept your company.”
Beckett’s eyebrows rose slightly at her apparent sanction of Creston’s bold maneuver. Strangely unnerved, he had no intention of being ousted by his arrogant cousin. “Would my lady also allow me to act escort?”
Kira cast him a long look before turning away. “I do not think so,” she said carelessly, simply to jab at his ego. When his features slackened somewhat with disbelief and, she thought, sadness, she couldn’t help but relent her cruel stance somewhat. Reaching out, she grasped his massive arm. “Forgive me, my lord. My response was most callous.”
He gazed at her a moment, the devilish twinkle to her eye, and abruptly realizing her game. Seeing that, somehow, she was attempting to ripen the competition between himself and Creston in spite of the fact that he was fully aware of her deliciously tender feelings. Entirely willing to turn her own prank against her, he dislodged her silken hand and bowed crisply.
“Indeed it was, demoiselle,” he said formally. “Therefore, I withdraw my offer immediately.”
Kira watched as he turned on his heel, marching through the small collection of men preparing to accompany the hawking expedition. His words had been firm and decisive, yet there was no true foundation in his tone. Having learned something of male human nature over the past few years purely from necessity, she fully realized he wasn’t serious. Suspecting, somehow, that he was trying to teach her a lesson amongst the chaos and discovery going on about them. For certain, she couldn’t believe he would walk away from her so easily.
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 150