The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  "Did I not tell you he was well?" Rob called from the hall door. "It is a malaise of the heart that is plaguing your son just now." His voice gentled as he took the space Arthur had vacated to Johanna's right. "And so he should feel. I have told Peter how deeply it hurt me to lose the man I believed was my father when I was naught but Will's age. So too, have I told him the tale of his grandsire's generosity and love for that orphaned lad."

  Peter sat back on his stool and rubbed at his eyes, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I have thought over your offer, Master Robert." Even as he spoke the corners of his mouth were pulled downward by the same weight that tugged on his heart. "If my mother chooses to go to Lynn with you then I will as well. I have not yet decided on the other."

  "What offer is this?" Johanna glanced from Peter to Rob.

  "Were you worried over your Peter's state?" A tiny smile touched his mouth as his gray eyes warmed to nearly blue. "Fie on you, love," he chided. "Was not your father like unto mine own? If Peter wills it I will make him my son, and so I have vowed to him." His expression sobered as he reiterated his promise.

  Johanna shifted to sit on the floor as she looked in astonishment at the two men she most loved. "You would do this for Katel's son?" Her words were but a soft breath.

  Rob shook his head, the rawboned lines of his face filled with gentle chastisement. "Nay, I do this for your son and for Walter of Stanrudde's grandchild."

  So great was her love for Rob that Johanna thought her heart might burst. Beyond speech, she reached out to embrace him. This was the man to whom she was married. This was her husband, who owned in his heart the same generosity of spirit her father had known.

  With that thought the wrong that had been done all those years ago was made right. The last of the bonds that had so long trapped Johanna in her misery broke. She gave thanks to God that she had survived to know this moment for all that came after would be happiness.

  Stanrudde

  Two hours past Vespers

  The Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, 1197

  As Rob closed the door on the servants in the hall the bedchamber fell into an instant dimness. Still, the teasing and the laughter penetrated the thick wooden panel. It was against the possibility that they meant to take their jests to a more physical level that Rob set the bar.

  Carrying a tallow lamp, Johanna crossed to the room's far end where a fresh night candle had been left on its iron stand. Once the candle took light, she set the lamp on one of the two clothing chests that sat behind it. Between the two there was enough light to chase the thicker of the gray shadows into the corners. As she turned back into the room, she laughed again.

  "I am overwhelmed. I vow my head reels against such a fabulous tale," she cried aloud.

  Once Peter had gone to seek his rest in the kitchen she'd heard the story of these last days from every participant and all possible angles. It had stunned her to learn it hadn't been Wymar who'd carried her message, but Syward, who'd done it as a boon for Watt.

  But the strangest of all was Leatrice's bold lie. "Speaks in his sleep, indeed! In all his life I doubt Katel once uttered a coherent word whilst he was at his rest. That cheeky lass was but repeating what she'd heard us say in the tower."

  "Then, it is fortunate we told the truth," Rob said, standing before the bed as he removed his mantle and his vest. These he hung over the clothes pole at the bed's head, then worked at loosening his brown tunic.

  "This is different" He touched the blue and gold curtains that draped the bed. "I remember the curtains as being red and yellow."

  "Katel bought new before our"—she stopped herself, not willing to say marriage.. She was wed to Rob and only Rob. "After my father died."

  "Ah." He pulled off his tunic. Dressed only in his shirt and chausses, he sat upon the mattress to loosen the cross-garters that held his knee-high boots to his calves. Once he'd set aside his boots he smiled at her then patted the mattress at his side. "Come and sit with me."

  New shyness took root in Johanna. Of a sudden she saw herself for what she was, a woman of one and thirty, old enough to be grandam. Yet despite her many years, she had little experience in bedding. What if Rob laid with her then was sorry he had committed himself to her?

  Despite her thoughts, Johanna did as he bid, easing into place beside him. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. "This is how married folk do upon retiring," he said, an almost awed tone to his voice.

  Johanna looked at him then sighed at herself and her silly fears. This was her Rob, the same boy she had loved and the man she did love. She raised a hand to catch a strand of his hair. When she pressed it into a dark curl upon his cheek, he smiled at her. She traced her fingertips downward from the high lift of his cheekbone until she smoothed the narrow line of his beard, then raised her hand to trace the outline of his lips.

  Fiery lights came to life in the cool gray color of his eyes. "I will sit here all this night if you but promise never to stop touching me," he said softly.

  Once again the shyness struck. She drew a sharp breath against it. With what-ifs tangling in her brain she let her hand fall from his face then chewed nervously on her lower lip.

  Rob's brow creased in concern. "Did I say something amiss?"

  "Nay," Johanna said, her worry growing. "Nay, I am just now realizing how much time has passed between us. Rob, I am no longer the girl you remember."

  Concern eased from his face to be replaced by a mummer's expression of skepticism. "Old, are you? Show me the gray that streaks your locks."

  His teasing eased a tiny bit of her worry, and Johanna laughed, just a little. She freed the nun's wimple from her head then tossed aside the plain head covering. "Do you find any?" she asked, tilting her head toward him so he might view her braids.

  "How can I tell when your hair is plaited so tightly?" he retorted.

  Her smile grew as she loosened her hair until it flowed freely around her. Once again, she tilted her head toward him. "Now do you find any?"

  "Nay, not yet, but I am not finished searching." Rob brushed her hair over one shoulder, thus baring her nape.

  "What are you doing?" she asked as he turned her head away from him.

  "I am looking on the underside of your hair for the gray you say you own." He touched his lips to the sensitive skin of her nape.

  Johanna shivered against this caress. Heat returned to life in her belly. "Do you find any?" she asked, her words breathless against what he did to her.

  "Not yet," he replied, his breath warm against her skin as he kissed his way down to the collar of her white undergown. Johanna melted at his play. Her hand fisted into the blankets against what was both torment and pleasure.

  "Perhaps if I saw your hair displayed against a white gown instead of this gray one I could better see the truth," he said between gentle nips along the curve of her neck.

  "But of course," she managed in a trembling voice. The heat within her was moving rapidly upward, nearing boiling. "How sensible."

  Her fingers tore at her cord belt. Where it went, she didn't care. Rob ceased his torment to loosen the tie at the back of her gray novice's overgown. Johanna came to her feet and pulled the garment over her head, then tossed it onto the ground. Her undergown, which lacked any tie or lacing to give it shape, was unbleached linen, not truly white.

  "Nay, that will not do," Rob said, shucking his shirt. "I need something whiter still, else I might mistake gold for gray."

  Johanna stared at him in admiration. His shoulders were broad, his arms well muscled against an active way of life. The night candle's golden glow outlined the strong planes of his chest.

  "How white?" she asked, her voice choked against her growing need to touch him.

  Heat darkened the skin along his cheekbones. He held out a hand to her. "I remember that your skin is very white," he said. His voice roughened with the same passion for her that she felt for him.

  Johanna swallowed as what burned in her destroyed all reluctance. Ag
e and inexperience were forgotten as she tore off the loose undergown, taking her chemise with it. It was without shyness or shame that she stood before him.

  The cool gray of his eyes warmed as he looked at her. Reaching out, he laid a fingertip to her shoulder, then traced a line downward to draw a circle around the peak of her breast. Johanna's knees shook, her eyes closed. Down his finger went, passing her waist. She loosed a soft cry and braced her hands upon his shoulders to keep herself upright. As he followed the curve of her abdomen she leaned forward, resting her brow against his head as she enclosed them in the red-gold curtain of her hair.

  His finger stopped at the place where her leg met her hip. He leaned forward just far enough to catch the tip of her breast in his mouth. Crying out, Johanna threaded her fingers into his hair, urging him to do more.

  At her response, he moved his hand along the curve of her thigh until he brushed his palm against the most private of her places. A new and deeper trembling started in the core of her being then shot through her until she feared she might faint. With a gasp, she pulled away from him.

  "Do I displease?" he asked. The amusement in his tone said he knew he did not. So did what strained at his chausses.

  "No more teasing,” she begged softly. "Love me, Rob.”

  "Always," he promised, rising to discard his final garment.

  Once more her heart took flight as she gazed on him. How had the boy she'd loved turned into such a beautiful man? There was no flaw in him. If his frame was large and powerful, it was only gentleness that radiated from him. She knew she would find comfort and protection in the shield of his arms. What a fool she was to worry. He was hers, and they had sixteen years of wrong to redress.

  Reaching out, she clasped her hands behind his neck then pulled herself against him. He made a sound deep in his chest as he embraced her. The feel of his skin against hers was wondrous. His shaft lay between them, hard and more than willing to do as she bid.

  She rubbed herself against him, gasping as she teased them both. This time the noise he made sounded more like a moan. He caught her face in his hands, tilting her head up to his. His mouth took hers, his lips slashing across hers.

  Johanna let the passion of his kiss feed the aching emptiness in her then begged him for more. She stroked her hands down his back to his hips, holding him tightly to her as she moved in tiny motions against him. He gasped against her mouth.

  It happened so swiftly she wasn't certain how he'd done it. In the next instant, she lay beneath him atop the bedclothes. His mouth was scorching a path down her throat, then lower still, until he suckled at her breast. With a sharp cry, she arched beneath him.

  Once again, his fingers came to rest atop her nether lips, stroking at this secret place of hers. Of their own volition, her hips lifted, and she could not catch her breath. Between what he did with his mouth and the great stabs of pleasure his fingers were sending through her, Johanna was certain she would die. She cried out again and again.

  He shifted atop her. In fierce joy, she softened beneath him, opening her thighs to urge him to make himself one with her. The heat of his shaft seared her, but when he laid his mouth atop hers, his kiss was gentle, even placid.

  Johanna frowned. It was his passion for her she wanted now. She caught his face in her hands and took his mouth with hers as he had done to her.

  He groaned at this. With that, she lifted her hips and demanded that he give her what she so needed. He thrust forward. Johanna cried out as they were joined, her pleasure mingled with just a little pain.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he kissed her brow, then rubbed his thumb across the fullness of her cheek. "Have I hurt you?"

  "Nay," she growled, "but I will hurt you if you persist on dallying when we have other matters at hand"

  This made him laugh, and he began to move slowly within her. What pain there'd been was soon destroyed by the wondrous sensations his slow and careful motions were waking in her. The intensity of it grew into a burning urgency. She lifted her hips, begging him to move faster.

  When he ignored her, she did it again, thrusting herself down on his shaft. This sent so strong a thrill through her that she did it again. And again.

  The next time she moved Rob met her thrust with his own. She cried out against the great bubble of feeling that was trapped within her. Her legs curled around Rob's hips, her arms wrapped around his back. Rob's breathing grew ragged and hoarse as the force of his thrusts increased. Pressing his mouth to her ear, he told her how no one save she could please him. Then, he told her how much he loved her.

  What filled her burst with his words until it flooded her with sensations so glorious Johanna cried out in the wonder of it. Still, he moved within her, each thrust more urgent than the last. Pleasure grew. At the very instant she thought she could bear it no longer, Rob cried out. Johanna swore she felt his seed as it entered her.

  Yet gasping against his exertions, Rob relaxed atop her to kiss her lips, her cheeks, her brow, until he finally nuzzled at her ear. Adrift on a hazy sea of spent passion, Johanna shifted to better accommodate the weight of his body atop her. Oh, but there was glory to be had in lying so with him. She could feel his heart beating against hers as if they shared but one.

  Johanna awakened deep in the night. Her head was pillowed on the bulk of Rob’s shoulder; his arms were around her as he held her close to him. She listened to the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. Her arm was atop the blankets. The interior of the bed was now breathlessly cold. Tucking the bedclothes over her, she shivered. They lay so close that this involuntary movement sent the wondrous sensation of her skin against Rob's shooting through her all over again. Johanna smiled. Rob was right. There was great joy to be had in sleeping with the one you loved.

  Awe filled her. To think, this would be hers to own for all the days of her life. Turning her head slightly, she pressed a kiss to his arm.

  Rob drew a sudden breath at her caress, then shifted and stretched. Bending his head, he kissed, her shoulder then stroked his hand down her arm until he could lace his fingers between hers. "I knew it would be marvelous to wake next to you. Dear God, but I love you. How have I existed for all these years without you at my side?"

  Johanna smiled. "You mean in your bed." It was a soft taunt.

  Rob raised himself on an elbow to look over her shoulder at her. His face was all shades of gray, the lift of his cheekbone lighter than the line of his beard. She could feel more than see the frown that touched his brow. "I want you for deeper reasons than to warm my bed."

  She rolled onto her back to look up at him. "I know that." Raising a hand, she smoothed her palm down the strong line of his chest. "It's just that at this very moment I cannot think of any better reason for wanting you. Touch me again," she begged him quietly, "and let me touch you until I am sated with the feel of you."

  Rob's smile was a gleam of white. "How long do you think that might take?"

  "No longer than three days," she replied.

  "Three days? Why so short a time?"

  "Because," she replied,running her fingertip down the length of his torso to where his shaft already thickened in response to her play, "that is how long it will take for the tailor to make me a new gown."

  She closed her hand around that part of him that was most male. As he caught his breath at what she did, she spoke on. "I have no clothing here save that novice's gown. Somehow, I cannot think you want the world to watch as you debauch a poor defenseless nun.”

  His laugh was low and deep. "Three days? Without a stitch of clothing to your name?" he asked again easing back down alongside her. His fingers came to rest at the peak of her breast.

  It was her turn to gasp. “Unless you would buy me something from the old clothes seller.” It was a weak retort.

  “My wife does not wear another's castoffs." He lowered his head to nuzzle her ear. "Do you think if I pay the tailor more than he asks he might stretch it to four?”

  Thank you for reading A Love for Al
l Seasons, the last of my stories about the FitzHenry brothers. As you have probably guessed by now, I believe that wrapping historical facts up in a good fictional story will teach you more about history and the way people lived in times past than any textbook. Thus the first four books were: #1 was Life in a Medieval Castle, #2 was Life in a Medieval Town, #3 was Life on a Medieval Manor and #4 was Medieval Sheriffs and Politics. (And you thought they were just novels.) When I finished with Geoffrey and Elyssa I didn't know quite what to do next. "So now what?" I asked my brilliant son Justin. His answer: "You haven't done one about the bastard son of the maid." And, boom! Just like that Rob appeared and I got to explore The Medieval Merchant's Life.

  If you liked this book (or even if you didn't, I suppose) please consider liking the book or leaving a review. If you were reading these books in the order I wrote them, I'm afraid we've finished this series. It's time to move on to my other books. If you heeded my suggestion that these books can be read in any order, you can choose your next book from the start menu. Also, don't forget to get my FREE novella "An Impetuous Season" from my website. Click here to download it

  Now a few notes about the history in this book. There was no standardization of date in the Twelfth Century. Clerks, depending on their affiliation, might name a day the first day in the first month of the first year of a particular monarch's reign. Or, a pope's. Or, an abbot's or bishop's rule. For common folk it was the rotation of holy festivals that marked their days, e.g., the plow races on the first Monday after Epiphany or the first plowing done on Candlemas. A child was more likely to remember his or her saint day than his or her birthday.

  It's for that reason I chose to use saint days in delineating the events of this book. Saint Agnes's Eve was an appropriate date on which to stage Rob and Johanna's reunion, for, by legend, this is the day when a woman divines her future husband. Of course in Johanna's case, it is both a past and future husband.