The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  The tooth puller, looking up with misgivings at the dark rolling clouds suddenly obscuring the sun, quickly wiped the blood from his hands and his pliers onto his apron as he slung his stool over his shoulder and set off for the tavern with the morning’s tenpence jangling in his purse. Stalls thumped as their owners folded them up for the day, striped canvas flapping in the breezes. The little pink sow trotted quickly off behind her master, tiny hoofs clicking on the pebbles as she guided her brood, unable to count far enough to notice the lack of two precious piglets sold for Brother Alfred’s cauldron. Then the clouds closed as a last sunbeam slanted through, sparkling across the grass as each stallholder and each hurrying customer set off for home in time for their midday dinner.

  The wind blew Emeline’s hood from her head and she pulled it back and tugged it low, her hand flat on top of her head. Laughing, the sisters ran up the lane as the rain began to pelt, huge sloppy drops on their skirts and shoulders and bouncing up beside their feet, the dust turning quickly to mud. “Hurry,” shouted Avice, “or our pies will be sodden.”

  “We should have eaten them right away.”

  “Eating while walking – and in front of the market folk? In public, with gravy on our chins, and even licking our fingers? How positively shocking. Papa would be horrified.”

  Avice giggled and Emeline shouted back, “Then thank all the saints that Papa is still far, far away in London, and will not be back for at least another week.”

  Up the lane and sharp left, both keeping a tight grasp on the basket where the pies were wrapped in damp linen, oozing perfume. Over the little slope, and down the alley between Master Lumpton’s milking sheds and the kitchen garden’s rosemary hedges. Through the big turfed courtyard leading to the stables, into the smaller cobbled courtyard backing the pantries and kitchens, and finally up the steps to the back door, and home. It was raining heavily now and the sky lowered in thunderous charcoal, promising to turn rain to storm. So, hurtling inside and slamming the door hard behind, shaking out soaked hems onto the worn slate tiles, stamping mud from their feet, and tearing off the dripping headdresses with their sodden gauze, pins flying.

  “If you waste expensive pins –” Avice mumbled, stooping to collect those fallen.

  And Emeline twirled in one delighted circle, arms outstretched and hair uncoiling, laughing, “But Papa is not here. How delicious. What freedom. Come on, I shall race you upstairs and we can eat our pies by the fire. Your chamber or mine?”

  “Mine,” said Avice. “It’s the furthest from the chapel, and besides I need to change my shoes.”

  “I need to change everything.” Emeline made a dash for the stairs. “I will put on my bedrobe and come to your room in just minutes. Besides, I still think of it as my room too.” Both girls hurtled up the back stairs, Avice pushing past and Emeline squeezing in front again. “I have won,” she yelled on reaching the upper corridor, “and claim my right to first bathwater. You can have the tub after me, but I promise to finish before the water is cold.”

  “Well hurry now,” grumbled Avice, “or the pies will be cold.”

  Emeline scrambled up the passageway to her own chamber at the far end, where the sound of the rain pelting against the window was an echo in the shadows. She pushed open the door and hurried inside.

  The arm slipped silently from behind her, well-muscled but silk clad, taking her firmly by the waist. A strong, long fingered hand swung her around. Dark hair, thick and as silky as the luxurious sleeve, was against her face. Two brilliant blue eyes blinked, then glinted below hooded lids as the face pressed against hers, and she was kissed, hard and long and as forcefully as surprise would allow.

  Nicholas murmured in her ear, “And now, my sweet, and now –” She was pushed deeper into the shadows and only his eyes lit the gloom. His hands were on her breasts, probing the damp satin. He whispered, “I see your nipples standing erect when your gown is wet, and your breasts are cold. Even in this half-light I see you.” And his palms cupped her body, still easing her backwards towards the bed. The fire had not been lit and the huge mattress, its embroidered covers and feather pillows deep shaded, stood like a great curtained archway, the charmed entrance to dreams. Nicholas tossed the curtains apart and laid his wife back so she tumbled down and the rope paillasse swung and creaked beneath. Nicholas chuckled. “The ropes need tightening. But first I’ll see if I can loosen them further.” He released the curtains and they moved together again like heavy screens, enclosing the bed in darkness. “Now,” he said, “let me remember you as I’ve tried to picture you for these past days.”

  Fingers deft and quick, he had untied the laces beneath her arm and was unclipping her stomacher. Then one hand was in her hair, thick damp coils just released from their ribbons and caul. “I like your hair,” he murmured, fingers combing and ironing away the raindrops, “but it’s your shorter curls I want now.”

  “You – you are – back,” squeaked Emeline, flinging both her arms around him.

  “Rode in an hour gone,” Nicholas told her, “and found you out. Managed to be polite to your mother for an hour, then pleaded tiredness and came up here to wait for you.” He grabbed her hand and held it tight between his own legs. “I’ve thought of nothing but bedding you for the past twenty miles.”

  He released her hand and put both his to the hems of her skirts. She mumbled, “I have been dreaming too – wanting –,” and immediately he swept her skirts up to her waist, bundling the folds beneath her and laying his face on the warm flat plain of her stomach. His breath tickled, and his fingers crept at once, playing in the thick curls at her groin.

  “Open your legs,” he whispered, “and let me in.”

  She gasped, “I want you so much – so very, very much, but there is Avice waiting for me in her bedchamber –”

  “I don’t care if the Pope is waiting for you,” his voice now muffled against her, “you are mine, my sweetness, and I shall have you now,” and he pushed her legs apart, and pressed his fingers up. “No doubt I smell of the saddle, but you smell of summer rain, and that’s how I want you.”

  Trapped by swathes of clothes, Emeline trembled. The mattress groaned. “Oh, Nicholas, I am so – utterly – delighted – let me –”

  But he interrupted her again. “Go where I lead you, my sweet, that’s all I want. But I’ll have you naked.” He leaned back a moment, laughing at her. “Trussed like a pullet for the skewer. How apt.”

  She tried to sit up. “Nicholas, you are shameless.”

  “Should I be ashamed of bedding my own wife? Isn’t this what marriage is for?” He pushed her back down, half kissing, half undressing her. Finally he pulled the gown from her arms and tumbled it off over her head. He lay beside her then, tucking one leg between hers. He smoothed his fingers down across her breasts, first very, very softly, and then firm, as though he meant to dry her with his palms where her skin was still damp.

  “But it is daytime,” whispered Emeline, peeping up at him.

  “If I wait for night, I shall have already expired with impatience,” he whispered back. “Are you still so timid to face me in daylight? But I like how the shadows across your body slip and slide. You’re a beautiful woman, my Emma. Don’t hide.”

  “Papa would be terribly shocked – it is forbidden, you know –”

  “If your infernal Papa were not so damned parsimonious, you would have a bed that did not squeak and cringe, and a mattress with more down than bumps.”

  “Oh dear,” Emeline mumbled, “This is the very best guest chamber, where my mother insisted I stay this time. I used to share a horrid little bed with Avice.”

  He lay back, smiling across at her. “Do I shock you then? Must I learn a gentleman’s manners?”

  Emeline shook her head. “I am just so happy you have come back. I was so frightened, wondering what might have happened, and it has been such a long time. Have you been terribly ill?”

  “Devil a bit,” he told her, watching cheerfully as she tried and fa
iled to pull the bedcovers across herself, “I got the barest skeleton of infection, and threw it off quick enough. Seems there’s no pestilence strong enough to floor me. But I took advantage of the time in London, and planned a few adventures to amuse myself. Then I thought of you. I came here simply to take you away with me.”

  There was a slight pause and Emeline sat up abruptly, staring at him. “Adventures? Then you thought of me? You’ve been perfectly healthy, and enjoying yourself in London while I’ve been heartbroken and sick with worry? And you promised to send messages and have sent not one single word. I even thought you might be dead.”

  “Would be a rare devilry capable of killing me off.”

  “I might do it myself.”

  He laughed. “And this is marriage too, I imagine, with a wife to plague me, and scold me endlessly and spoil all my plans?”

  “You didn’t even miss me?”

  “I missed you, yes indeed my sweet. I missed you every night, with my prick hard against my belly and no soft place to put it.”

  She hurled the pillow first, and when he laughed and threw it off, she jumped on him with both fists, punching at his ribs. He grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms back and she winced. He was still laughing but his grasp on her was like iron and her arms throbbed as he forced her back. She gasped, “You wouldn’t – you won’t – and I will never forgive you for these horrible weeks alone thinking you in pain – I couldn’t even eat –”

  Which is when Avice knocked on the door outside and called, “What are you doing, Emma? I am starving and our pies are going cold.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nicholas called, “Eat the pies yourself, brat. You won’t see your sister again until supper.” Footsteps scuffled, then silence returned. Nicholas regarded his wife. “Well, my love, seems your appetite has barely suffered after all. So, is it London together? Or do I take my fill now, and then ride off alone again into the moonlight?”

  Emma collapsed, staring up at the inside of the old linen tester above. “This is so confusing. Have I been making a fool of myself – waiting and praying for you? And all the time you have been – gallivanting – without shame.”

  “I’ve not taken another woman during that time, in case that’s what you’re thinking,” he answered cheerfully. “Does that help?”

  Sniff. “Just because you’ve been too sick.”

  He shook his head, still laughing. “Three or four days sick and a couple more feeling like a scalded hedgehog. The rest of the time I had my mind on other things. I’ve my own life to lead, my dear, or should I wear my wife around my neck at all times, like a baldric?”

  “You could at least have sent the message you promised. Your promises are as unreliable as the wind.” The wind had begun to whistle and the rain was heavier, thrumming against the window so that she had to shout over it. “You – you’re a man without decency or honour or substance – and now I’m ashamed to be in love with a horrid brute who does not care for me at all.”

  “You’re not in love with me,” Nicholas told her curtly. “You don’t even know me. You imagine yourself in love simply because I made love to you. You’re infatuated with sex and romance, that’s all. So come here.”

  “I’m not infatuated,” Emeline protested loudly as the rain poured with renewed force. “I’m not an idiot. And I know you’re not in love with me, but you might at least show me some – kindness – and – respect.”

  “I respect this,” he said, both hands hard to her shoulders. half lifting her as he brought her firmly into his embrace. “And I won’t fight with a naked woman.” She found herself held so fiercely, she could not wriggle nor barely breathe. “Hush,” he told her, “or your sister will be discovering more than your miserable father would approve of. Now I’ve other uses for all your energy.”

  “I don’t want to anymore,” wailed Emeline.

  “And that, my girl,” Nicholas said, “is just the challenge I need.” He had pulled her astride him, holding her nakedness tight to his leather and velvets, making no attempt to undress himself. Her own arms were limp, refusing to embrace him, but he took no notice and grinned, one hand firm to her buttocks, the other caressing her breasts, pulling and pinching, then leaning down to kiss her nipples. Between her legs she felt the stiffened rise of his codpiece, and against her belly the padded peplum of his doublet. She could not move away from him, her legs forced wide and the strange pressure of the heavy materials against her. He continued to explore with fingers and lips, and his warmth warmed her as she felt the steady wave of arousal mount in her groin.

  But where he held to her buttocks, his fingers also probed, and Emeline was shy, whispering, “Don’t –”

  And he lifted his face up to hers again, and smiled, and said, “Oh, I shall, my love. I shall what I will, but as I enjoy you, so I shall take you with me, and teach you the joy of the both the simple and the forbidden.”

  His kisses travelled, a sensuous brush of his mouth against her skin from ear lobe to nipples and down between her breasts to her navel, his head nudging her ever back. Unable to go except where he permitted, she was now arched over, her legs spread and her body exposed while he watched, and continued to smile, so she mumbled, “Please –”

  He interrupted, “Yes, it pleases me.” And suddenly he released his support, pushing her even further backwards. Then with both hands he grabbed her ankles, whipping them up to his shoulders so she squeaked, wriggling away. “Oh, no,” he murmured. “You’ll stay where I put you.”

  Blushing fiercely, she mumbled, “I feel – invaded –”

  He leaned forwards a little, his eyes very bright. “You want me to love you? Like this I adore you. You’re very much mine, and this is how I teach you passion, instead of modesty.” He rubbed his palms over her feet, one on each of his shoulders, as if warming her or quickening the circulation of her blood, firm and strong over her toes and soles, then to her ankles, lingering over the little sharp twist of her bones, and hard and fast along her calves. His thumbs pressed behind her knees as he gazed down, grinning at her, then his fingers smoothed the insides of her thighs, slowly now, tempting and tantalising. “Lie still, little vixen,” he whispered to her. “These are my desires. One day you’ll tell me yours.” And his fingers reached her groin, stopped there and then, very, very slowly, began to circle, rubbing either side, his thumbs pressing in. She felt the sudden cold metal of his signet ring, and flinched. He did not pause. Then abruptly one thumb and finger pushed inside, the other hand rubbing at the point of entry so she jerked, gripped suddenly by sensations she could no longer avoid. “Oh, yes, little one,” he murmured. “Now – close your eyes and trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

  She shut her eyes tight, and felt him lean over so her legs were pushed up higher, and then his face was pressed down and the slight rasp of his chin prickled against her skin and the hot slide of his tongue was where his fingers had been. Now his hands slipped beneath her, again holding her up very closely against him while he breathed in her scent, making her gasp and twist as he kissed and discovered where else to kiss, and which kisses made her breathe faster.

  He paused, leaning back again with a slight sigh, and said, “You are deliciously tight, my dear. It is such a sweet challenge.” And again she felt the sharp chill of his gold ring against her flesh, and the mounting tides she did not know how to resist became internal storms and she shuddered, shaken and crying out. He smoothed beneath her eyes, then across her lips. “This is the taste of you,” he whispered. “It is utterly delicious. See?” And he held her tight until she had calmed, and lay still in his arms.

  Then he kissed her forehead, and slipped from beneath her, saying, “Now I must be naked too, to feel the velvet skin, and the cool softness, and the warm rise of your breasts.”

  She had no words. She curled back against the pillows, catching her breath as she watched Nicholas undress. He seemed leaner than when she had last seen him, and the sleek slide of muscles and sinews in his arms and
legs seemed more pronounced. His hair, dark as the charcoal in the brazier, had been cut short, but he had not shaved and his jaw was dusky with stubble. As she watched him so he watched her, tossing his doublet and shirt to the floor and bending to unlace the waistband which joined hose to braies. When he was naked he stood a moment, then came to her slowly. When he spoke, his voice was a tiny hot wind on her belly. “Now, my sweet, you’ll do as I say, for it’s my turn and I want you more than I’ve wanted anything for a long, long time.” He moved her gently, as if she was incapable of moving herself. And then he kissed her, first on the mouth with his tongue pushed between her teeth and his breath in her throat, and then he kissed her breasts while his fingers once again crept to her groin. “Squeeze,” he told her. “You have muscles inside here, strong enough to break wood. Discover them. Squeeze my fingers.” His eyes were so bright, she couldn’t look at him, and turned away. But with one hand to her cheek, he turned her back. “No, don’t avoid me. Learn about your body. Then learn about mine. Squeeze, as if restraining your bladder. That’s right. Again. So you control your own rhythms, and will bring me a pleasure I’ll have no voice to describe.”

  He pushed inside her so suddenly, she grunted and he smiled. “First slowly, little one, and when you catch me up, then fast and hard, and you’ll squeeze, then relax, then squeeze again.” He continued to watch her, his smile tucked in deepest delight, and his eyes intent on her reactions. Finally, for just a moment, he rammed hard and very fast, then stopped, inhaling deep, and sank down against her, gasping for breath and trembling as though utterly spent. He whispered, “Sweet Emma,” and stayed still inside her, gradually calming his breath and body. Finally he moved away and sat up but brought her up with him so they were facing each other, legs entwined. Immediately he flung both arms around her and cradled her head against his shoulder. “And that,” he told her softly, “is my road to love. Now – little one – will you come to London with me?”