by Sandra Hill
Too much information! Breanne started to laugh, then choked on air going down the wrong way. Amicia clapped her on the back so hard she launched into a new round of choking. When her breathing returned to normal, she said, “Nay, I did not know that.”
“That was afore it dropped and spread.”
Sweet Valkyries!
“A sad thing, really, ’cause men do like buttocks what are high and curved jist right. I usta be able ta twitch me nether cheeks, one at a time. My man at the time loved it.”
I cannot believe I am having a conversation about women’s back ends.
“How is yers?”
I thought my sisters were blunt, but this conversation passes all bounds of woman talk. “Since I have no way of seeing back there, it would be impossible for me to have an opinion.”
“Hah! If ya have a good arse, yer man will tell ya so, believe you me. Arses are right up there with jiggly bosoms when it comes ta men and their appetites.”
“Since I have no man, it is a moot question.” Now, please, can we end this kind of talk?
“If ye say so. What you two been doin’ up there in the master’s bedchamber with the door locked? Dancin’?”
Breanne’s face heated. “Just because I might have been a little bit intimate with your master, does not mean he is my man.”
“Who ya tryin’ ta convince? Me or yerself?”
Changing the subject, Breanne asked, “Have you ever heard of the ‘Butterfly’ or ‘Row the Boat?’” Then immediately regretted her question.
“Huh?”
“They are supposedly sexual positions.”
“Oh, that! I prob’ly did, but gave it no name. I will tell ya one trick, though. One that drives a man wild in bed.”
Do I want a wild man in bed? Breanne waited for Amicia to continue, but she did not. “Tell me,” she finally demanded.
With a conspiratorial grin, Amicia told her how to use her inner female muscles—Who knew I had inner female muscles?—to clutch and unclutch a man’s member. “’Tis jist like what ya do when ya need ta piss but need ta hold it in. Practice and ya will soon see what I mean. Actually, I heard that in some of them Eastern harems, the houris…thass what they call the whores…practice with little marble wands inside them the size of a man’s middle finger. A candle works jist as well.”
And you would know that about candles…how? Nay, I cannot ask her that because she would probably tell me, in detail. “That is the most outrageous tale I have e’er heard.”
“I allus wanted ta be a lady. Mayhap I will be able ta latch onto some handsome knight and we will go off and live in his castle.”
Oh, my gods! “Uh, I am fairly certain that Lord Caedmon will be wanting you to return to your cooking duties once the archbishop is gone.”
“Should I curtsy when I meet the old buzzard?” Amicia proceeded to do the most demented bending of one knee down almost to the floor, which resulted in her head rail falling off and her almost toppling over, saved only by Breanne’s hold on her arm.
“Nay, a curtsy will not be necessary,” she said, “and do not refer to him as a buzzard, please.”
“Some monks are sodomites, ya know. That means they likes ta bugger men, not women.”
She bounces from one idea to another like water in hot grease. “I doubt there are any more sodomites in the priesthood than in regular society.”
“I rather like that young priest what will be stayin’ here at Larkspur.”
“Amicia! You are not to seduce a priest.”
Fortunately, or not so fortunately, Caedmon arrived then. To say he was startled by Amicia’s appearance would be a vast understatement. To give him credit, he managed to immediately mask his feelings of shock, followed by humor. Instead, he said, “How nice you look, Lady Amicia.”
Amicia beamed.
“I will escort you both to dinner. I must warn you, Archbishop Dunstan is not very fond of females.”
“See, I told ya. Sodomites,” Amicia said to Breanne.
“Whaaaat?” Caedmon looked as if he had swallowed his tongue.
“Nay, nay, nay! Archbishop Dunstan is not a sodomite, Amicia. And you must never repeat that again.” Lest we all end up in a dungeon somewhere…or skinned.
“What I started to say, Lady Amicia…and, Breanne, you must remember to refer to her in that way…is that Archbishop Dunstan has a warped view of religion in which women are to blame for just about everything wrong in the world. As a result, neither of you will be sitting at the high table.”
Which is just as well if he is going to insult us, Breanne thought. “As I told you before, Amicia…I mean, Lady Amicia…you and I should not speak at all, unless a direct question is asked of us.”
“Even then, do not volunteer any information,” Caedmon cautioned. “Try to appear meek, Amicia.”
Breanne snorted at that prospect.
Amicia moved ahead of them then, gleefully enjoying her stroll through the great hall, hips swinging from side to side, as Caedmon’s men dropped their jaws, then made lewd remarks.
“Bloody damn hell! I told them that she is to be Lady Amicia tonight and that they were not to pay any particular notice of her when she comes in.”
“Hard not to notice the transformation,” Breanne replied.
Caedmon nodded, bent his neck to the left, then to the right. “I do not think I have ever seen a female rump that size afore.”
Liar, liar, your braies are on fire…
Caedmon seated Breanne and Amicia at the trestle table closest to the dais, just below the salt. Instead of being insulted, Breanne looked scared to death, and Amicia was having the time of her life.
He did not know if Dunstan would be offended by having the two women within view of his seat at the high table, but at this point, he just did not care. He was done groveling to satisfy every little whim of the cleric, like his bed remade with special scratchy linens he carried everywhere with him as a sort of self-flagellation, or incense burned in the chapel to purify it from Father Luke’s death, or a lamb to be slaughtered and cooked for him, specially, instead of the usual fare. He had even ordered one of Caedmon’s irate servants to launder and iron all his garments, including some finely laced vestments, and have them done within three hours.
“Do not be afeared,” he told Breanne, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. I am afeared enough for both of us. “Dunstan will leave tomorrow for Heatherby.” Even if I have to push him out the door.
“I have a bad feeling.”
You have no idea. “Do not be looking for trouble. A good soldier knows to take one battle at a time to win a war.”
“That sounds like something Rashid would say,” she replied with a laugh.
Yea, that is me. A wisdom skald. More like a lackwit skald. He shrugged. “You look pretty tonight.”
She cast him a skeptical glance. For some reason, she had ne’er been confident about her beauty. And she was beautiful.
Her hair was loose with a fillet of braided gold holding it in place, across her forehead and scalp. The red strands sparkled from the light of the wall torches. She wore a crimson gown with Norse embroidery along the wrists and along the edges of the sleeveless surcoat of the same color that covered her almost to her ankles. The gold brooch that held a short shoulder mantle, the gold-linked belt that tucked her kirtle to her waist, and the gold stars that dangled on thin chains from ear ornaments bespoke the wealth she had hinted at earlier in the day, when Dunstan had asked about her dowry. A well-dowered bride she would be for some man. Too bad he was not in the market for a bride.
Just then, he noticed something glittering on her hand. It was his signet ring.
His eyes shot up to meet her gaze, and held.
“How do you do that?” she husked out.
He tilted his head in question.
“Make me tingle.”
He smiled. He could not help himself. “Where?”
“Where what?”
He squeezed her shoulde
r where his one hand still rested. “You know very well. Where do you tingle?”
“As if I am going to answer that, rogue!”
“If it is any comfort to you, you make me tingle, too.”
They were spared any further discussion on the matter by the arrival of Archbishop Dunstan, who was followed by his retinue of sycophants and clergy. Most of them took seats on this lower level, but the three priests were obviously going to the dais.
Dunstan stopped when he saw them.
“Lady Breanne,” he said with a nod. “And this, I assume, is Lady Amicia. You were derelict in your duty today, m’lady. I hope it will not happen again.”
Amicia looked puzzled. “Dairy Lick?” Then outraged. “Is he sayin’ I lick cows?”
God’s breath! Would everything be ruined by a mere choice of language?
“She had a fierce megrim,” Caedmon said quickly, “no doubt due to the chastity belt that was put on her by her father long ago.” He rolled his eyes meaningfully at the archbishop.
The archbishop’s face flushed red. “I did not think they did that anymore.”
“’Twas a long time ago,” Amicia chimed in.
Thank God that Amicia got in the spirit of things. Now she was caught in the lies, like him and Breanne.
“Well, bless you, my child, for your chastity.” He made the sign of the cross in the air over her.
Some of his housecarls snickered at Amicia being described as chaste, and he flashed them glowers of warning.
“So, Caedmon, when would you like to hold the betrothal ceremony?” the archbishop asked then.
How could I have forgotten that? “’Tis really unnecessary, Your Grace. We will wed soon enough.”
“And I would much prefer to have my father present,” Breanne interjected.
“Females are to be seen and not heard,” Dunstan said, scowling at Breanne, before adding, “Is King Thorvald on his way?”
“Uh, yea, he is, but I am not sure when he will arrive.” Breanne’s eyes caught his, pleading for help.
“We sent a missive to Breanne’s father sennights ago,” Caedmon lied, realizing too late that he was digging them deeper into the hole of deceit, “but you know how long the voyages to the Norselands are, to and fro. Dependent on the wind, storms, and God himself.” Caedmon patted himself on the back for adding that last bit about God. Surely, the archbishop would be impressed.
“I go to Heatherby from here. If King Thorvald has not arrived by the time I depart for Glastonbury, we will hold the betrothal ceremony forth-with. Provided that this meets with King Edgar’s approval, of course. He will already be angry over Lady Moreton’s marriage; he had plans for her.”
He left then to go to his seat, his two sheeplike priests following after him, heads bowed, arms crossed with hands inside the opposite sleeves.
Whilst Amicia was busy gawking all around from her novel position near the high table, Caedmon sank down to the bench next to Breanne, just for a second. He had to nudge her with his hip to get her to move over. “It appears that you and I are going to have to get betrothed.”
“One lie leads to another and another and another. Where will it end?”
He had an idea, a horrific idea, but if she did not suspect, he was not going to be the one to tell her.
“Exactly what happens in a betrothal ceremony?” she asked.
“I have ne’er had one afore, but it seems to me that it is just two people pledging to get married within a year.”
“A year? Phew! A year will give us plenty of time to unbetroth ourselves.”
“I have missed you, Breanne. Have you missed me?”
“How could I miss you? You are always there.”
“Not always.”
She studied him for a moment. “You mean, in bed.”
Definitely. “That, too.”
“I slept with you last night.”
“That is the problem. You slept.” He let the fingers of one hand walk up her arm, from wrist to shoulder. He could almost imagine the goosebumps rising on her skin. Bloody hell, he had goosebumps, too.
She lifted his errant hand and placed it on the table. “Bedplay! Is that all you can think of?”
“It is when I am around you.”
“I do not like being a lady,” Amicia interrupted their flirtsome game.
He and Breanne both said, “Why?”
“’Tis boring. If I were sitting at the other end of the hall, some lusty man would have his hand up me robe, or I would be tickling his manpart under the table.”
Caedmon burst out laughing, then looked at Breanne.
“Do not dare!”
“Oh, well, I kin always practice me exercises ’til this bloody dinner is over.”
“Do not ask,” Breanne said.
At the same time he did just that. “What exercise would that be?”
Ignoring his question, Amicia addressed Breanne, “Yer face looks red. Are ya practicin’ yer exercises, too?”
“You both look like your bowels are blocked,” Caedmon grumbled, irritated at being ignored.
But then Amicia, to Breanne’s dismay, told him in graphic detail exactly what exercise she referred to. His jaw dropped lower with each word.
Breanne buried her face in her hands.
An idea came unbidden to him. Caedmon knew what his second bridal gift to Breanne would be. A candle.
His fruit was yummy…
There was good news, and there was bad news the next day.
Good news: The archbishop was leaving Larkspur.
Bad news: She and Caedmon were going with him to Heatherby.
Good news: Lady Amicia was staying home.
Bad news: A betrothal ceremony would be held within a few days if Breanne’s father did not arrive, which he would not, since he had never been summoned to begin with.
Breanne drew her horse up beside Caedmon’s as they rode out of Larkspur, twenty guardsmen accompanying them. Northumbria was still a wild, ungoverned land where villains and reivers abounded. Thieves had no qualms over killing a person for a few pieces of gold, no matter that they be high church officials.
Caedmon was a handsome man, no doubt about it. Looking out one of the arrow slit windows this morn, she had seen him practicing swordplay with his men on the exercise fields. He must have bathed afterward before dressing in a tunic of finest dark blue wool, held in at the waist with a wide leather belt, over black, brushed-hide braies. He was clean shaven and his still-wet hair had been trimmed yet again.
Noticing her scrutiny, he asked, “Is something amiss?”
She could not tell him that he made her tingle just looking at him. “What a mess you got us in now!” she hissed. Even though the archbishop and his retinue rode in the forefront, she would not want anyone to overhear.
“Me? I am not the one who said we could not be formally betrothed until your father arrived.”
“Perchance you could pretend to get some deadly illness.”
“Why do I have to be the one to get sick? Besides, knowing Dunstan, he would perform a deathbed marriage, followed by Extreme Unction, just so he and the king could get a portion of your dowry.”
“Even if we were getting married, I would not be willing to give any of my dowry to them.”
“You would have no choice.”
“Methinks Britain is not a hospitable land for women.”
“’Tis no worse here than any other country, and in truth, I am not given a choice in all things, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Until my uncle died and deeded me Larkspur I was a landless knight with no prospects. You cannot know what it is like to finally have a home when you had none.”
“And now I have jeopardized that for you.”
He shrugged. “I had a choice, as did you when you agreed to our bargain. But a man like me, with no powerful political connections, is always at risk with greedy kings…and influential churchmen.”
“How horrible!”
&n
bsp; “’Tis the way of the world. But do not think I am sitting here waiting for doom and gloom to fall on my head. Little by little I am building up my troop of housecarls and hirdsmen. Eventually, I would like to add more rooms onto the keep, and build a village beyond the castle grounds, to attract men with families.”
All that building made Breanne nigh salivate. “What is stopping you?”
“Money, mostly. But more than that, when the king calls me into service, as he did for the past nine months, I am unable to work my land. And the scutage is too high. This is a small estate, compared to others, and in a remote, undesirable location, so close to the borders, but even so, I have to be careful not to gain attention.”
“If it is all about money…or at least partly…why not wed again to some wealthy heiress?”
He grinned. “Like you?”
“Nay! Of course not. I have no interest in marriage.”
“Nor have I.”
“You are not even tempted?”
“Oh, I am tempted, m’lady, but not by your coins.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “By the by, I would imagine that horseback riding is a good time for doing your exercises.”
“You will ne’er let me hear the end of that, will you?”
“M’lady, that mind picture of you with a candle will be in my head forever.”
And mine, as well. “Why do you resist marriage so much?”
“I have traveled that path twice, and both were agonizing. I will not willingly undertake that torture again, not for any amount of wealth.”
“Geoff is doing so, for land, is he not?”
“Yea, but Geoff has ne’er been wed afore. He will learn.”
“You have a jaded view of marriage. Were you never in love?”
He snorted.
“Could be that your marriages were unhappy because you did not love your wives. Nay, before you scoff, know this: There are men and women who fall in love and wed because they cannot live without that other person.”
“You know such as those?” He was clearly unconvinced.
She nodded. “I do. My sister Tyra and her husband, Adam. Lord Eirik of Ravenshire and his wife, Eadyth. Eirik’s brother Tykir and his wife, Alinor. Just to name a few.”