by Jackie Ivie
There wasn’t a fire in his chamber, but Devon had lit several candles. Flickering light outlined him easily for her. Bessie roved her eyes in desperation, trying to find a portion of him that wouldn’t unsettle her, and failing.
He’d pulled back his hair, displaying the line of his chin and neck. She’d slandered him there, too. A film of fine hair was trying to coat his face, turning blond as the light touched on it. Bessie looked at the area around his nose. She was just glad the dimness hid the intense color of his eyes.
“What ugliness do you hide, Mistress?”
He whispered the question and shifted slightly. Bessie’s eyes widened as his bent knee touched her thigh. She should have worn more, although at the time the heavy cotton nightgown and robe had seemed sufficient.
Devon moved his right hand to her throat. Bessie made a sound like a strangled mouser. One side of his mouth lifted slightly.
“Does the thought of me looking bother you so?”
She would have shaken her head, but the feel of his fingers made it difficult to think, see, and breathe at the same time. She hadn’t experienced such a sensation before. Heat seemed to leave his fingers and crash into the pit of her belly. She swallowed, the motion grazing her skin against his palm. Devon must have felt it. His eyes dropped to her throat. He rubbed his thumb along her chin line and she quivered. He felt that, too. The slight pursing of his lip told her so.
“There’s not one scar I can feel. As far as I can tell, you’ve all your teeth besides. Open your mouth.”
Bessie jerked her head back the instant his thumb connected with her lower lip. Her payment was the hard stone against the back of her head. She winced. Devon chuckled, his breath fanning the curtain before her face.
“An amenable wife isn’t too much to ask, is it? It would go far in seeing to this consummation you desire. I’ve been denied all my other wants in a wife. The least you can do is obey. What say you to that?”
“You...forget yourself.” Bessie answered between panting breaths.
“Does this mean you’ll not see to your husband’s needs?”
He tipped his head as he asked the words and stole her wits. No matter how she framed a response, nothing came. Her mind wouldn’t let her think past the images his words brought to her.
He couldn’t have just said what it sounded like.
“No answer? As much bite as your tongue has? I’m a bit disappointed, Mistress. That, I am.”
He stepped back, allowing her to breathe again. She watched as he stretched, lifting the tunic to an unimaginable length. Bessie’s eyes widened further at the sight. Her mouth dropped open. The sound she made sent his attention back to her.
“Ah. You’ve decided an answer for me?”
“No.”
“How did you spirit all the wenches away? I vowed I’d not ask it, but it’s uncommonly strange. You say a thing is to be, and it is. How did you make it happen? You say you know nothing of witchcraft, and yet...there must be something.”
“I am no witch.”
He sighed loudly and moved from her. “So, you say, but you must be. You’ve all the marks, from your hideous presence to the effect of your words the instant they’re spoken. You’ve got me intrigued, and I swore I’d not let you know of it. Damn my loose tongue, anyway! What is it you hide? My fingers itch to rip that accursed veil from your face, but my senses warn me not to. The known can’t be worse than what is imagined, can it? Perhaps, it’s best that you don’t speak. I might not like the answers any more than I do you, at present.”
Bessie reached for a sapphire clasp at her temple.
“You are uncommonly quiet. You know that? I’ve yet to decide the reason, although it’s a welcome change. Come then. Help me bathe. My water grows colder and my stench stronger while we dawdle.”
Her hands stalled at one side of the head covering as he yanked his tunic over his head right in front of her. The sound she made didn’t stop one bit of it.
Shock stunned. And then it captured. Bessie’s eyes went wide. Her mouth gaped. Her breath was completely stolen. Bessie had seen more of the Earl of Stansbury than any woman should ever have to. She’d also seen Bargerelle. Although it had been eight years earlier, her first husband’s hairy expanse had left her in no doubt about how intimidating a man’s nakedness could be. She’d also seen drawings the other ladies had kept hidden and whispered of.
She should have been able to recall any of that at will, but her previous experiences were as nothing in comparison to her husband, Devon Francis Hildebrand. Shadows carved out the muscles of his thighs, buttocks and back for her. There wasn’t any portion of him that wasn’t beautiful. It was unfair of life to so gift him.
Bessie caught her knuckles between her teeth as he tossed the tunic in her direction and approached the tub. There was a loud ringing in her ears. She could barely hear the cursing he filled the air with as he settled into the concealment of water.
“Would it be too much to ask a hand, Mistress? ’Tis cold, and I’ve yet to grow another arm to wash my back. I mustn’t wish for such, though. You’d probably see it done.”
“Oh. Never,” she whispered.
It wasn’t far to walk to reach him, but the distance seemed to grow. Or her senses were warping reality, even slowing down time. She was halfway to him when he ducked beneath the water. Her eyes weren’t working when she ordered them to blink. She’d nearly reached the water tub when he lifted his head. She knelt gingerly on the stool beside his tub and willed her eyes to look anywhere but at him.
Devon Francis Hildebrand, the queen’s favorite courtier, was right there! He was wet and naked, and within reach. Lady Mirabelle Bryant wouldn’t have believed it if she’d seen it with her own eyes. Bessie couldn’t even believe it.
Her hands shook as she reached for the cake of soap on a tray. He tossed his head back like an animal would. She dropped the soap and heard it skitter across the floor. She ignored it. She couldn’t move her eyes as Devon slid his hands down the sides of his head. He sprayed water onto every surface, including her. She didn’t even feel it.
“Clumsiness, too? Is there none of my needs you’ll fulfill? Wait. Don’t answer that. I do not wish to know. There’s little reason to think you’ve changed. Have I damned my loose tongue, yet? If not, consider it done. Blast my stupidity in wedding you! The Tower waxes fair in comparison, and she would have forgiven me in time. I know she would have.”
The sharpness of his words startled Bessie, ending her trance. When would she learn? He was little more than a handsome face and a beautiful body. There was nothing behind it. He had no heart, no soul, and little compassion. Or, if he did, they were well-hidden.
Bessie hardened her heart before she did something she’d regret for her entire lifetime. He hadn’t changed. He didn’t deserve to know the truth. He might never deserve it. She supposed she should thank him for reminding her.
She slid backwards from the stool.
“Where are you off to?”
“My room. You can wash your own back.”
“You can fetch the soap and return to your duties. That’s what you can do.”
“Fetch it? I find the thought of washing your back sickens me. Insulting words are known for such an effect. You’ve much to learn, my lord.”
“Either you fetch it, and make haste at it, or I’ll fetch it and you, too. Must I remind you of the coldness of the water, or do you wish to experience it yourself?”
“I’ve little desire to experience anything that has your presence attached to it,” she answered haughtily.
She wished she wasn’t retrieving the soap cake as she said it. She knew a triumphal expression would be coating his face, so she ignored looking. She hadn’t a prayer of continuing if he carried his threat through. At least in the tub, only his upper torso and his knees were showing.
“Having second thoughts about my sentence, Mistress? You could avoid this chore by undoing your spell. It’s by your own words that you must attend me
, you know.”
“I am not listening.”
“There are no wenches at Hilde that you can weave your spell on. My sisters are immune. They’ll be uncomfortable with my wedded state, too. You’ll just have to grow accustomed to it I suppose.”
Gritting her teeth helped, but the sight of his spread back glistening with water, could easily make her lose hold of the soap again.
“The girls expected me to curry favor. They expected a dower. Little did anyone expect I’d return with a witch of uncertain looks, a sharp tongue, and a nasty temperament.”
His words made it easier to scrub his back. Bessie wished she held soap fashioned of wood ash and lye rather than boiled lard and herbs.
“The girls have been the recipient of my royal favor, until now. I don’t think they’ll welcome this union any more than I do.”
“There. I’m finished.”
Bessie spat the words and upended her stool in her effort to move away from him. He’d flexed his back muscles enough for several baths and her scrubbing had turned his skin pink. Her fingers were tingling more than his skin could possibly be, though. She’d best think of worse things she could do to him.
“Good. See to it that fresh clothing is sent up. I find the servants in this Hall lax in their duties. Perhaps you’ll have better luck with them. Oh, and Bess?”
On the utterance of her given name, Bessie’s heart surged. She stifled the cry in her throat. She stopped at her own door and waited.
“I don’t employ a personal servant at Hilde. You’ll need to provide what you will. You show a penchant for washing me. I swear I’ve not lost this much skin since my days as a squire. I shall enjoy my baths in the future, I think.”
She slammed the door on the last of his words, opened it, and slammed it again. He was laughing the second time, but she didn’t care.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So, tell me. How do I look?”
“Foolish.”
Bessie twisted her lips at Roberta’s critique. “I do not. I look exactly like a young maiden from the village. This is what they wear. I know. I’ve seen them.”
“You will never look like a maiden from the village. Your skin is too pale and fine, your hands are too soft, and you’ve all your teeth besides.”
Bessie winced again. This time, it was at the memory of Devon’s words. “What should I wear over my hair? I’ve seen women bare-headed, and I’ve seen shawls.”
“With your hair? A shawl.”
“He will not notice me that way.”
“He won’t notice you at all, regardless. The man doesn’t notice anything other than himself.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you talk of nothing else. Why would I agree to such a scheme in the first place?”
“We have to make him notice me.”
“You’ll have to have a guard or two, my lady. I won’t abide this plan without them.”
“I cannot play-act as a maiden from the village and have guards looking over my shoulder at the same time.”
“Do you want to be ravished?”
“No.”
“You don’t know what you want, do you? This is a farce. Unhook me, my lady, and we’ll set about attending this joust in the correct manner. I’ll have one of your gowns ironed. We’ll toss this veil into the nearest dustbin with the rest of the rags. That way, you can sit on the dais and watch the joust with the other gentry.”
“I know what I want. I want the moon. I just don’t know how to go about getting it.”
Roberta snorted. “That much is clear. What do you hope to gain with this, then? If he sees you in your correct form, attired in your finery, he’ll want you. What man wouldn’t? You do want him to notice you. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes. I do. I want my husband to notice me. I want him to desire me. I want to see each and every bit of his reaction when he does see me...but I don’t want him to know it’s me at the same time. Is that too much to ask?”
“You think he will want a maiden from the village when he already has the lady of the castle? What do you take him for, a complete fool?”
“He doesn’t know he has the lady of the castle! Remember?”
“Let me find which tent he’s gone to, and I will apprise him of it, then. The poor man deserves the truth.”
“No, he doesn’t. He deserves the same things I face. He deserves to find a maiden from the village attractive and then he deserves to have her reject him. That is what he deserves.”
“That is your plan? What if he doesn’t find you attractive?”
“Oh. He will find me attractive. I have your sister, Augusta for that.”
“What is she going to do?” Roberta’s voice lowered.
“She will see I’ve a bit of paint on my cheeks, my hair is arrayed at its finest...and she advised me to show a bit of skin. Because every knight needs a lady’s favor. True?”
Bessie lifted her skirt and held out a leg. She had a green ribbon tied at her ankle.
“Oh! My lady!”
“I am not going to give that one to him, Roberta. I shall give him the one from my hair and then replace it with this one while he watches.”
“Oh. Dear me. Allow me to talk with Lord Hildebrand. Someone has to see sense in this and you’ve lost yours.”
“I forbid it.”
“Let me get you two guards, then. You’ll not notice their presence. I shall dress them as peasants. Large peasants.”
“Nothing that will attract attention.”
“I’ll find our smallest men. I swear.”
“Very well. I agree. Oh! I can hardly wait! That man is going to know exactly what it feels like to be rejected.” Bessie narrowed her eyes at the mirror.
“Please don’t do this, my lady, please? I’d rather roast in the hellfire than see any harm come to you.”
“You just said I’d be guarded.”
“There are men that can get through guards.”
“Roberta. Calm. You are fearful for naught. It is the middle of the day, it’s sunny outside, and there’s not that many in attendance. You told me yourself there are only twelve knights. The contest won’t last but an hour. I will be back in this chamber before sup. Just you watch.”
“Couldn’t you just attend as an unknown lady? It would be safer.”
“That would not work. There will be some here who know me, Roberta.”
“They’ll surely spot you in the crowd, then, won’t they?”
“Not when they think I am sitting beside them.”
“This farce isn’t necessary. What man wishes a termagant to wife? All you have to do is show him a bit of your shapely ankle when you are nice and safe in your bed chamber. He’d come around. There’s not a man that wouldn’t...especially with your wealth.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Roberta. It hardens my resolve.”
“I said the words wrong. Please let me talk to him. I’m certain Lord Hildebrand just needs a bit of advice.”
“I forbid it. You are not going anywhere except to the feast. From there, you are to take your assigned seat on the dais. Attended by Sir Geoffrey.”
“Sir Geoffrey is not watching. He is participating. I heard it straight from his squire.”
“What? Geoffrey is not to joust. I will not have either of them harmed! I forbid it!”
“You’re doing an awful lot of ordering about for a maiden from the village, I’m for thinking.”
“You will not talk me out of this, Roberta. Now, put on your veil like an obedient, little Lady Hildebrand. It is a good thing we’re much the same in height, isn’t it?”
“I have two stone of weight on you, my lady. This will never work.”
“That is why we weeded out the petticoats. There. You will do nicely. Devon won’t notice it isn’t me sitting with the others. He never looks at me, anyway. Why would he start now?”
“Because it isn’t his wife sitting there. He’ll know it.”
“Roberta. He dis
likes me.”
“You never gave him a chance to do otherwise! What will he say when he finds this out? Have you thought through to that?”
Cold shivers raced her arms. They were unpleasant, and made her vaguely ill. Bessie swallowed around it. “Devon won’t know until I decide it’s time. I shall have the situation well in hand before then. Come along now. You are wasting time. We will miss the festivities.”
“Oh, Lady Bess! Please do not do this! I am going to trip or something worse! I might say the wrong thing and ruin your reputation!”
“I do not have a very good reputation, Roberta. They call me The Widow, remember? My neighbors avoid me. You will do fine. Just thank everyone constantly. Murmur something flattering about their appearance. That’s all the nobility seem to care of, anyway.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“Stiff chin, Roberta. Head high. That’s the spirit. Look for me.”
“I’ll look nowhere else.”
“That will give me three guards, then. Oh. Try and lift your skirts with an elegant gesture, not like they are in your way. That’s better.”
“I am not even to the field and already giving the lie away. Oh Lord, help us!”
“Go, order my guards, Roberta. I shall see you later. Now, go!”
Bessie shut the door swiftly behind Roberta. It wasn’t truly necessary. There was no one about. Most of the staff was attending the fair. She twirled before the mirror again and then rang for Augusta.
~ ~ ~
The feeling of freedom was intoxicating.
Bessie breathed deeply and wondered when the air had changed. Everything sparkled. The colors of the field were more intense, the sounds louder, and the strange feel of loose material about her made her eyes widen in surprise. She was blushing as she eased her breath back out.
Bessie was used to having her breasts tightly pressed into place by her dress fabric. The blouse she was wearing had no such restriction. She couldn’t believe the difference. It was erotic. She reddened each time she thought of it. She’d no idea what the feel of gauze and cold air felt like to an unbound bosom.