“Your eyes are too sharp, and your nose too long,” Philippa answered sharply.
“I’ll make the brew for you,” Lucy promised. “You won’t need it, however, until your monthly courses are run now, my lady. That’s what the letter says.”
“Sometimes I regret ever teaching you to read,” Philippa muttered. Then she added, “And not a word to my husband, or anyone else. Agreed?”
Lucy nodded. “If the earl knew, he’d pack me off to Cumbria himself,” she said. “I like the south even as you do, my lady. If I went home they’d marry me off to some farmer’s son, and I’d live in the north forever. Like I said, I ain’t my sister, and content to look after a man and her bairns. Ever since that first trip we took together to Edinburgh when you was just a little girl I’ve had an itchy foot like you.”
“But when I have children, Lucy, we will be stuck here at Brierewode,” Philippa said wickedly, but Lucy was not in the least disquieted by her mistress’s words.
“Now, my lady, you and I both know that once you have given the earl an heir or two you will cajole him into letting you go right back to court. So go to France, come home and do your duty, and all will be well,” Lucy said sensibly.
Philippa nodded. “Did you know that Uncle Thomas has hired us a ship to go to France? We’ll sail with the royal fleet, and the queen has asked me to take along several of her maids of honor. And we will have our own pavilion and not have to beg for sleeping space.”
“Well, at least we’ll be comfortable in that foreign place,” Lucy said dubiously. “I ain’t never been in a sailing ship, my lady. Will we be out of sight of the land?”
“I don’t know,” Philippa said. “I’ve never been to France myself.”
“Well, I suppose if Annie, my sister, can cross the water in a sailing ship I can too,” Lucy finally decided. “I ain’t going to like it, but I’ll do it.”
Philippa rode across her husband’s estates, and found herself relaxing with each passing day. It had been a long time since she had been away from the court. Crispin was diligent in his duties to both his lands and his wife. Philippa had to admit that she enjoyed the time spent in his arms. She had never really considered what this side of marriage would be like, but she was learning that she liked it. She liked it very much. She was almost sorry to realize their time at Brierewode was coming to an end, but they had to get to Dover to join the court.
The queen’s nephew, who was both king of Spain and the new Holy Roman Emperor, would be coming just before they departed for France. Those of the court invited on the summer progress to France would be expected to be at Dover in time to greet Charles V. The emperor was just twenty, the son of Queen Katherine’s deceased sister, and he had never met his aunt. He and the French king did not get on at all, for Francois, like Henry, had hoped to be elected Holy Roman Emperor. The honor, however, had gone to Charles of Spain.
They departed Brierewode on a rainy May morning. Philippa was more rested than she had been in years, and she was very excited. “We shall see you in the late autumn,” she told Mistress Marian, her housekeeper, “before we return to court for the Christmas revels. I know Brierewode is safe in your capable hands.”
The housekeeper nodded and smiled. It was difficult to be annoyed with Philippa. She was charming and mannerly. But all this traveling about! When was the lady going to remain home and do what was expected of her? “God speed you, my lady, my lord,” she murmured politely.
They traveled directly down to London, stopping at Bolton House where Lucy, who had gone before them, was waiting with Philippa’s trunks packed and ready.
“Wait until you see the gowns Lord Cambridge had made for you,” she whispered excitedly to her mistress. “And suits for his lordship as well. I’ve packed them in a separate trunk. And I’ve taken your jewels from the secret place. ’Tis going to be such a grand event. Everyone is talking about it. Supper will be simple, for it’s me doing the cooking. Everyone else has gone with his lordship back to Otterly, and the extras were paid and sent on their way.”
“Serve the supper then in our apartments,” Philippa said to her tiring woman. Then she sighed. “I suppose with none to haul water I can have no bath. I’m already filthy with our travel.”
“I can do a little tub in the kitchens, my lady,” Lucy said.
“And Peter and I will carry the water from the kitchen well,” the earl said, coming upon them and hearing his wife’s conversation.
“Oh, thank you, my lord!” Lucy dimpled.
Crispin St. Claire slid an arm about his new wife. “I shall remain to scrub your back, madame,” he told her with a leer.
“And I will scrub yours, for you shall share the water with me, my lord,” she replied. “We have been wed long enough for me to recognize that look in your eye, and I’ll not lie with a man stinking of horses and the road.”
“How fastidious you are, madame,” he teased her. “I have never known such a woman for bathing, but I will admit you smell better than any woman I have ever known.” He kissed the top of her head. “We may not be so fortunate in France.”
“Wherever I am, Crispin, I will have my bath,” she told him. “I know how many of my companions use scent to cover up their stink, but my nose is sharp. When we first were introduced I knew you bathed more than twice a year with water and soap.”
He grinned. “I’ll begin fetching the water,” he told her, letting her go. “Peter!”
Lucy directed them to fill two large cauldrons which she then swung over the fire. “It will be a while before the water is hot enough for you,” she said.
“Then let us eat here,” Philippa decided. “It will save you the trouble of bringing it upstairs to us. We’ll eat now before we bathe. What of the men-at-arms and the coachman? They must be fed too.”
“ ’Tis done. Peter and I took their meal out to the stables just a while ago,” Lucy responded. “We’re all eating the same tonight. Venison stew. I made two pots with what was left in the larder. Arranged it with his lordship’s cook before we went to Oxfordshire at the beginning of the month.” She bustled about, putting pewter plates and mugs upon the big kitchen table. She pulled a large loaf of bread from the warming oven and put it, with a board, a knife, and a crock of sweet butter, on the table. Then looking to the earl’s manservant she snapped, “Peter! Get that jug of cider from the larder, and fill the goblets.” Taking up a small cauldron she ladled stew into the two dishes. It was rich with a winy gravy that embraced the chunks of venison, the leeks, and the carrots in it.
“Sit down, sit down,” the earl invited the two servants. “There’s no sense in you waiting. The food will get cold, and cold venison stew is not pleasant to eat.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Peter said as Lucy added two more plates and mugs to the far end of the table, and filled the plates with stew.
They ate, and Philippa could hear the water for their baths beginning to boil up in their cauldrons. She mopped the remaining gravy from her plate and waited patiently for the others to finish. When they had, Peter stood up.
“I’ll fill the tub for you, my lady,” he told her.
“And I’ll make certain the temperature is just right,” Lucy said as she gathered up the plates and mugs and took them to the stone sink to be washed. “My lord, if you do not mind, a bucket of cool water from the well would be appreciated. Peter, when you’ve got the water in the tub, go to the stables and get the stew pot back from the men.”
Finally all was ready for the bath. Peter had gone, returned, and gone again to the stables where he would keep company with the men-at-arms. Philippa was in her little tub, pleased she was able to wash. It was unlikely she would be able to do so again until they reached France. The earl had sent Lucy away, and now sat watching his wife as she bathed. Philippa had a beautiful young body, and it gave him pleasure just to look at it.
“Ply your brush, my lord,” she suddenly spoke, breaking into his train of thought. “Did you not say you would scrub my bac
k?”
Kneeling next to the tub, he picked up the brush, soaped it, and began to scour her back. “I am sorry this little oak tub is not big enough for us both,” he murmured in her ear, kissing the little curl of flesh. “I like it when we bathe together, Philippa.”
She giggled. “When you bathe with me, Crispin, we seem to become entangled in each other,” Philippa teased him.
“I am going to make love to you tonight,” he said low.
“We must make an early start,” she protested.
“And when will I have the time again once we get to Dover?” he asked her. “And I know how you feel about passion in a public inn.”
“I shall have Lucy bring us an extra pitcher of water tonight,” she said softly. “Now stop, Crispin, or you will have all the skin off of my back.”
He gently laved water over her, rinsing away the heavy lather he had built up. Philippa stood up, and the droplets from her tub sluiced down her lithe body. Reaching out, she wrapped herself in one of the two large towels Lucy had placed on a drying rack by the fire. She stepped from the tub, and his arms wrapped themselves about her.
“Crispin,” she murmured warningly, seeing the bulge between his thighs.
“I don’t choose to wait, little one,” he told her, pulling his shirt off and loosening his other garments. He backed her with his body to the large table where they had just eaten, his hands imprisoning her heart-shaped face between them, kissing her hungrily.
“Crispin!” she protested again. “Lucy and Peter!”
“Peter dices with the men-at-arms, and will sleep in the stables. Lucy is above stairs, and will not return unless called,” the earl told his wife. His manhood was freed now from its constraints, and it was ready to play. He pushed her down, and her legs came up to fasten themselves about his waist. He drove into her in a single smooth motion as her arms went about him, and she sighed. “Ah, countess,” he told her, “you consume me, I fear. No woman has ever entranced me as do you, Philippa.”
She sighed again. “Then it is fortunate I am your wife, Crispin,” she told him. Sweet Mother of God, how he filled her. His bare skin crushing her breasts was almost hot. Her nipples had tightened into hard points, and she arched herself into him. She loved the possession he took of her. It thrilled and overwhelmed her. Philippa’s head fell back, and his mouth began almost at once to press wet, hot kisses on her vulnerable throat. His tongue lapped from the pulse at the base of her neck up beneath her chin. She unlocked her grip about his neck, her hands smoothing down his long back, scoring him with her nails, lightly at first, and then with more vigor as her own ardor increased.
He felt her nails digging into his flesh. Reaching back, he took her hands and pulled her arms over her head, pinioning them there. “Would you mark me, little one?” he growled in her ear, and then his tongue teased the delicate flesh. His hips did all the work now, thrusting forwards and backwards, driving himself deep into her, enjoying the little mewling cries that had begun to issue forth from her throat. He could feel the very faint trembling beginning from within her, but he wasn’t ready yet. He drew back slowly, and held himself still.
“Oh, Crispin, don’t!” she pleaded. “I need it! I need it!”
“In a moment, little one,” he promised her, and his mouth found her sweet lips, brushing them gently at first, and then kissing her with a fierce and demanding yearning. He began to move within her once more, feeling himself so swollen that he actually ached with the pleasure being inside of her gave him.
Philippa had thought she would die of the unfulfilled longing that had swept over her when he had briefly stopped. Then he had kissed her, and she was quickly lost in her own desire for him. The storm began to once more brew. It burgeoned and swelled until it finally burst over them both, and he collapsed breathless atop her. Suddenly she could feel the hard wood of the table beneath her shoulders, her back, and her buttocks. Philippa began to laugh. “Get off me, you great beastie!” she told him. “Your wicked games have made it necessary for me to get back in the tub again.” She pushed at him.
Crispin groaned. He was drained. His limbs felt like jellies. She pushed at him again, and he managed to pull himself up. “God’s boots, woman,” he complained at her, “you weaken me to the point of exhaustion with your constant demands.”
“My demands?” Philippa sat up, and then she slid from the table. “My lord, you are mistaken, I fear. ’Tis your demands that are so insatiable!”
“Nay,” he insisted. “Now, countess, just look at those adorable little breasts of yours. They plead with me to be caressed.” He bent his ash brown head and kissed one of her nipples. “Do you not see? It is pointing at me, for I see no other here it points to, do you, madame?” He was grinning at her.
“You are a wicked man, my lord earl,” she scolded him, but she was smiling. Then she pushed past him, and climbing back into the small tub she sat down and washed herself free of any residue of their shared passions. Then standing up again she instructed him, “Bring that smaller cauldron of water, for the bath is too cool to be comfortable for you.” She stepped from the tub and began to dry herself off again.
He reheated the little tub and then, pulling the remainder of his clothing off, he climbed in and began to wash himself. When he had finished she helped him dry himself. He donned his shirt, and she was already in her chemise. Gathering up their clothing they walked upstairs past the lovely hall, and climbed a second flight of steps up to their bedchamber.
“Call Lucy, and tell her to go to bed,” he whispered to her.
She nodded. “But remember we must leave at the very hour of dawn,” Philippa said. She drew back the coverlet for him, taking the shirt before he entered their bed. Then she called Lucy, and bid her go to bed. “We depart early,” she reminded her tiring woman. “But put the tub away before you sleep,” she concluded.
Lucy nodded. “I’ll see to it, and then lock the kitchen door. Peter is in the stables with the others for the night, my lady. Good night. Good night, my lord.” Then she was gone, and Philippa could hear her footsteps hurrying off down the corridor.
“Come to bed,” Crispin called sleepily.
Philippa drew off her chemise and laid it aside before climbing in with her husband. She smiled when he wrapped his arms about her. He was already sleepy, she knew, and sure enough the earl was shortly snoring. But in the dark hours of the night he awoke, and made passionate love to her before falling asleep again.
“Won’t be able to do that again until we reach France,” he murmured in her ear.
“The king and the queen would be shocked by your lust, my lord,” she teased him, but Philippa had thought it too. In the past few weeks she had become less prudish about their coupling. It had been from the very beginning a pleasurable experience lying with her husband. Obviously the queen did not find it so, although she had certainly never said it. How sad, Philippa considered. She wondered if every woman had such delight in bedsport with her husband.
The next day dawned fair, and they saw the sunrise on the road to Canterbury. It was the twenty-fourth day of May. The closer they came to the town, the more crowded the roads they traveled became. Finally reaching Canterbury where they would meet up with the court, they found their way to a small inn, the Swan, where Lord Cambridge had thoughtfully arranged for them to stay. But the inn was so crowded that Peter was housed in the stable loft with several other men, and Lucy slept on a trundle bed in her lord and lady’s room.
The emperor had not yet arrived but was expected any day. Philippa reported to the queen, who was pleased to see her.
“You are happy, my child?” she inquired solicitously.
“Very,” Philippa admitted, “but I am ready to serve you, madame.”
“When we return,” the queen said, “I am releasing you from my service. I have women aplenty around me, and you have been as your sire before you, most faithful to the house of Tudor. Now, however, your first duty must be to supply your husband with an heir
. No one knows this requirement of a successful marriage better than I do, child.”
“But, madame,” Philippa protested, “I am willing to serve you forever!”
The queen reached out and touched the young woman’s face gently. “I know that, my dear,” she said. “If I have been fortunate in anything, it is the love that both you and your good mother have borne me. But like Rosamund you must now live your own life, not live that life through me. I have allowed you and your husband to come to France with us on this glorious progress as a reward for your faithfulness. But when we return, Philippa, I shall bid you adieu. You will always be welcome at court, but I know that you know your first duty is to provide children for your husband’s family.”
“Ohh, madame, my heart is broken,” Philippa said, and her eyes filled with tears. “I should have never wed if I knew I could no longer serve you.”
“Nonsense! ”The queen laughed softly. “You are not the proper material for the church, despite your passionate declarations last year. Like your mother before you, you are meant to be a wife and a mother yourself. There is nothing else for a woman, Philippa. Now dry your eyes. You are among my prettiest ladies, and I want you to be with us when we greet my nephew’s arrival.”
“Very well, madame,” Philippa replied. When she managed to see her husband later that evening she told him, half angrily, of the queen’s decision.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but the queen does what she thinks is best for you. We are very fortunate to have her friendship, Philippa. If we have a daughter she may one day serve the queen, or Princess Mary.”
“We are still welcome at court,” Philippa answered him. “We will come for the Christmas revels, won’t we?”
“Let us see when we return from France, and from visiting your family in the north, how we feel about it. You could be with child, Philippa, and all that traveling might not be good for you. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”
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