by June Francis
CHAPTER SIX
THE bedchamber was in darkness but Louise could see clearly the outline of the four-poster bed with its curtains. Her heart was beating so fast now that she thought that she would suffocate. Had John only saved her from the soldiery for himself? She found that hard to believe, considering the days she had been in his company when he had made no advances to her at all.
He toppled her on to the bed rather than placing her there, and collapsed beside her. For several minutes neither of them moved and she could hear his rapid breathing. She managed to lean up on one elbow in an attempt to see his face in the curtained seclusion of the four-poster but could barely make out his profile. ‘M’sieur Milburn,’ she whispered, ‘why have you brought me up here?’
‘You need to rest,’ John retorted in a barely audible voice. ‘I will get up in a moment and leave you.’
She doubted him capable of movement for some while. ‘I will find somewhere else to rest,’ she said softly, and would have removed herself, but he stretched out a hand and hooked it about her neck and pulled her down beside him. She attempted to free herself but his other arm slid about her waist and his hold on her neck slackened as his head shifted on to her shoulder and he brought her closer to him. His overwhelming masculine presence had already caused her to be the target for conflicting emotions on the journey from the gateway, and so again she attempted to free herself.
He muttered indistinctly and his arm tightened about her, as he said in a slurred voice, ‘Stay — please.’
Louise realised that he was almost asleep with exhaustion. Rescuing her had drained the remainder of his strength. She allowed herself to relax and a long breath escaped her. It seemed that she was fated to spend the night in his company once again, and if aught else happened she supposed that was the price that she had suspected all along she might have to pay to find Marguerite. A yawn escaped her and, reaching down, she pulled the bedcovers over them. Maybe she could trust in his vow this night? Weary with the events of the last two days, she slept.
For hours she slept peacefully but then dreams assaulted her and she was running, filled with a dreadful fear, reliving the moments by the city gates. She awoke with a start and lay rigid in the bed, staring up at the dark canopy overhead.
Within moments she was fully awake. How stiff she was — and hungry and thirsty. She slanted a glance at John’s motionless figure — he lay on his side, facing away from her. Pushing back the covers, she slid out of bed. Going over to the window she saw that there was a line of orange, silver and white beneath the grey above the roofs to the east. Without delaying any longer she made her way over to the door.
All was silent, and almost noiselessly Louise felt her way downstairs to the kitchen. The fire was nearly out on the hearth, but her nose led her to the remains of the pork beneath a covered dish on the table. Finding a knife, she managed to cut herself several slices of the meat.
Remembering the layout of the kitchen from earlier she went over to a shelf and took down a corked earthenware container and poured some cider into a tankard. Then she set about enjoying her feast.
She was just finishing off her meal when the noise of quiet footsteps on the stairs almost caused her to drop the tankard. Several seconds passed before the outline of a figure appeared at their foot, and, without noticing her, moved like a shadow towards the entrance to the front room.
Louise could not understand why she did not make her presence known to Clotilde, but when she heard the bolts pulled on the front door she allowed her time before going over and peering into the parlour. There was nobody there and she decided that it was really none of her affair why Clotilde should be leaving the house so early in the morning. She stood a moment thinking before quietly going back upstairs. Wrapping a fold of her skirt about the latch, she silently opened the bedroom door.
Sitting on a chair by the window, Louise puzzled over why Clotilde should be out alone at this time of morning.
‘What are you doing over there? Why did you go downstairs?’ John’s whisper startled her. He had pulled the curtain aside and was sitting up against the pillows. She winced at the sight of his face. ‘To the kitchen for something to eat and drink,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you.’
‘That’s all right,’ He smiled lopsidedly. ‘I wish you’d brought me something.’
‘I never thought.’ She added hesitantly, ‘But if you want me to I can fetch you some food and drink now.’
‘I’d like that,’ he drawled.
Louise was there and back within minutes. She laid a tray before him and sat sideways on the bed, watching him take a deep draught of cider. ‘Did Pierre have the men beat you before dragging you on the ground?’ Her voice was concerned as she gazed at him.
He glanced at her and for a moment was silent. ‘If I’d been in his position I’d have probably done the same to an enemy. It’s of no matter. I’ll live.’
‘Your brother said that you are not a violent man.’
‘Did he?’ He gazed at her and then down at his food. ‘You don’t want to believe everything Harry says.’ His tone discouraged further discussion.
She sat watching him eat, wondering about him. At last he finished the food and leaned back against the bed. A painful gasp escaped him and he quickly bent forward.
Louise frowned. ‘You are in pain.’
He drained his tankard before saying, ‘I will have Clotilde look at it.’
‘Clotilde?’ She was suddenly vexed. ‘Why should you wait for her to minister to you? She has gone out. I will see to it. Take off your houppelande,’ she ordered briskly, ‘while I go and fetch some water.’
She hid a smile at the expression on his face as she left the room quietly. It was not long before she returned with some cloths and salve and a small cauldron that steamed.
John had managed to remove his houppelande and doublet, and unfasten the buttons on his shirt, but he was having difficulty removing it. He grimaced and she hurried over to him. ‘Allow me,’ she murmured, gazing on his linen-covered shoulders and back where blood and ointment had stained the fabric. She began to dampen it with warm water, before slowly and gently easing the material off. In some places it stuck stubbornly to his skin and she was aware from the clenching of his fists and his indrawn breath just how painful it was for him.
To take his mind from his discomfort Louise began to chatter about the last time she had been to the great fair in Bruges, and of the sugar loaf, the kid gloves and fabrics she had purchased. He began to talk of the countries he had seen. Of the cold northern lands, and of Iceland, which he had only visited once. He spoke of how different it was from other places he had visited. It was a land of legend, wreathed in warm mists, not completely ice as one would think from its name. He spoke of the people in their animal furs, whose main livelihood was fishing their icy waters, and of the strange creatures that dwelt in the sea.
Louise listened with as much attention as she could, although she did not catch everything he said, as she smeared the ointment on his back and shoulders. She could not help noticing that there were several scars on his back. Her fingers started to trace the shape of one but he reached round and caught her hand. ‘Don’t,’ he said roughly.
‘What is it?’ she murmured.
‘Nothing for you to concern yourself with.’
‘But it is a perfect “J”.’
‘So I’ve been told.’ His voice was taut. ‘Hurry up with your task, mam’selle, I’m getting cold.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly, and skilfully finished binding up his wounds.
He seized her hand as she passed him his doublet. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded impatient just now. I am grateful for your tending me.’ He kissed her wrist.
‘Don’t!’ she said huskily, trying to snatch her hand back.
He kept hold of it. ‘Just a kiss, Louise. It is nothing,’ he murmured, pushing up her sleeve. His lips caressed the underside of her arm.
‘Please — you must
n’t touch me,’ she whispered.
‘You don’t like me touching you?’ His eyes scanned her face over her arm.
‘No!’ Then, with a little less certainty in her voice, ‘I — I — it is wrong.’
‘You find it pleasant, though?’
She looked away from him. ‘You should not ask me such questions.’
‘How am I to know what pleases you — if I don’t ask and you don’t answer?’ he said quietly.
‘Why should you be concerned about what pleases me?’ she stammered. ‘To seek the pleasures of the flesh is sinful. We should be thinking more about our immortal souls.’
‘When I look at you I can’t help but consider the pleasure we could give to each other. You made a pretty boy, mam’selle, but you make a lovelier maid.’ He leaned forward and his lips brushed her cheek before finding her mouth. It was a gentle kiss; even so, it sent a precarious thrill of excitement shooting through her.
She drew back swiftly. ‘Is it that you would seduce me, sir?’ Her voice held a hint of breathlessness. ‘I’m not blind to the position I have placed myself in because I need your help to find Marguerite.’
‘Bedding you was never part of my promise to help you, mam’selle,’ he said with a sincerity that she wanted to believe in as his fingers touched her cheek and traced a line down her throat. He took hold of her shoulders and she allowed him to draw her closer. His lips brushed hers briefly, tantalisingly. She knew that she should pull away as his hands explored the contours of her body, but she did not. His gaze was on her face as if he watched for her every reaction. She moistened her mouth, thinking she should say, Stop! when his fingers toyed with her fastenings. Her heart leapt into her throat as he eased the surcote from her shoulders but still she was silent. It was almost as if he had bewitched her.
When he started on her corset it was a different matter; she stirred and clutched at the lacing of the bodice. ‘Please, I don’t think I want you to go further,’ she said in a stifled voice.
‘No?’ he whispered, against her mouth, stopping any further protest with another kiss, and removing her fingers one by one. He loosened her ties, saying softly, as his hands felt the shape of her beneath the clinging chemise, ‘This would have been easier if you were still dressed as a youth.’
She felt a hysterical laugh rising inside her, and said unsteadily, ‘Why do you want to remove my clothing? It’s not needful if you wish to just lie with me. Take me quick and have done with it, Master Milburn!’
‘I did not say that I would lay with you,’ he murmured. ‘But I would like to feel your flesh against mine just as it was the other night in the tree.’
‘You should not remind me of that again!’ Her voice shook with a mixture of excitement and mortification, and she gripped his arm with both hands in an attempt to prevent him going any further.
He made a noise in his throat. ‘Why? Because it was enjoyable for both of us?’
‘I never said that was so,’ she whispered, trembling a little.
‘It wasn’t necessary.’ He laughed and, leaning forward, he caught her lower lip between his teeth before hungrily covering her mouth again. His fingers caressed the nape of her neck and tickled her ears, before baring her shoulders and kissing the hollows beneath her collarbones. Almost of its own volition her body arched back over his arm and his lips discovered her breasts so that she had cause to swallow in an attempt to control the rising thrill of pleasure as his tongue and mouth teased her nipples. He brought her up straight and dragged the chemise over her head and flung it on the floor. For a moment they looked at each other as they knelt on the bed and she trembled because he had roused such desire within her, and she did not know how to control it. Then he enfolded her in his arms, breast against chest, and she embraced him, shivering with a mixture of cold, excitement and apprehension.
She could not think coherently as he laid her down and stretched out beside her. He pulled the covers over them before his mouth claimed hers. His hand stroked her hip and her stomach, soothing even as he roused and rolled her on to her back. His fingers gently explored inside her, spreading pleasant tingles through her loins. Her body moved of its own volition beneath his touch and there was an overwhelming need inside her to reach out and draw him closer. Her hand sought the bare skin between his bandages and stroked it as his fingers caused pleasure to pulsate through her. She had a desire to caress his loins as she had last time, except now they were covered. ‘I would please you,’ she whispered urgently.
‘Surely,’ he said tenderly, ridding himself of his hose, and bending over her. It was not quite what she expected when he brought her hips up to kiss against his and parted her thighs. Then she realised what was going to happen and her mind struggled against the stronger urge inside her. His root of masculinity penetrated her secret place and a moan escaped her. Her hands flew to his chest in an effort to ward him off. ‘Please don’t.’ Her voice was a shivering whisper.
He moved gently inside her. ‘Trust me to take care of you, Louise.’ His mouth lipped her throat and she gasped as he thrust deeper inside her, mixing pain with pleasure. Even as her mind told her she should be struggling, her arms were enfolding him and her body was arching to join in the rhythm that throbbed inside her, and she urged him on. Then her body was flooded with a pulsating ecstasy that caused her to cry out, and ended in a shudder that raced through him into her.
John lay on his stomach next to Louise, one of his arms stretched across her. She was trying to think through what had happened. It had been like nothing else she had ever experienced and because it had been so delightful she had surrendered her virginity to him with barely any resistance. Why him? He was English, so deserving of her hatred. Why could she not have welcomed Pierre into her body in the same manner? She could not understand the overwhelming attraction John had for her and felt shame because she had given in to her lust. ‘I have become your whore,’ she said in a dull voice, ‘and I am damned forever.’
‘No more than I.’ His voice was muffled. ‘I cannot blame you for tempting me, although you did.’
‘I would be blamed less for my sin if one of the men at the gate had taken me,’ she murmured. ‘You saved me from them for yourself and seduced me with soft words and gentle hands. I was chaste and you have ruined me.’
There was a silence and he lifted his head. ‘You would rather I had left you with them?’ There was a disbelieving note in his voice.
‘No!’ She turned her head and looked at him. ‘But I would you had needed to force me!’ Her voice quivered.
Because he did not speak in a whisper, when his words exploded in the air they seemed very loud. ‘Force? Dammit, woman, I was deliberately gentle with you. I could have taken you roughly and with passion and you would have fought me this first time. Instead I wooed you and you allowed it because of that! Was it not pleasurable for both of us?’
‘Ay! But what we did was wrong! My enjoyment makes it a worse sin.’ She sat up abruptly, clutching the blanket to her breasts. ‘Your gentleness undermined my resistance,’ she said strongly. ‘And I trusted in your vow that you would not go so far.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘My vow was at an end when I found my brother.’
She stared down at him, taken aback. ‘You should have told me.’
‘And how should I have done that?’ His voice was soft. ‘Perhaps I should have said, Mam’selle Saulnier — or Louise — I lust after you, so I’d better warn you that my vow of chastity is at an end.’
‘You mock me,’ she said hotly, her hazel eyes sparkling.
‘A little.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Because you are being quite ridiculous, my sweeting. And besides, would it really have made that much difference?’ He added silkily.
‘Be honest and admit you wanted me to take you in the inn in Harfleur.
Hot colour darkened her cheeks. ‘I! Want an Englishman?’ she said, almost choking on the words because they were perhaps shamefully true. ‘I hate you! And if it were not for Marg
uerite I would wish to never set eyes on you again.’
‘I hardly expected you to say that you love me,’ he retorted, getting out of bed. ‘But hate?’ He stood, naked, gazing down at her, his hands on his hips. ‘It is a strong feeling, Louise, as vigorous as love. I doubt there can ever be passive emotion between you and I. The trouble is that love and hate make demands on a person. But hate always destroys eventually, whereas love conquers and builds up. You have to make up your mind which it is you feel towards me, and I suppose till then I will have to bear with your moods of blowing hot and cold.’
‘You bear with me?’ Louise sat up with a violent movement, and her voice was frigidly controlled because looking at him made her want him all over again. She felt sick to the stomach at the thought. ‘I was a virgin! it was the only thing I had to give to a husband and you have taken that from me. And you dare to talk of love!’
He was silent and then he inclined his head. ‘So be it. I will not talk of love. But as for your being a virgin, I was not sure — not until it was too late — and even then I was not sure, I took it that in your guise of youth you mixed much with men. But why you dressed in such a way — you have never explained.’ He started to button up his shirt, his gaze on the far wall. ‘Anyway, lass, be glad that I was the first. I vow that it would not have been as enjoyable with anyone else.’
She ground her teeth. ‘You have a fine conceit of yourself, sir! And it was my father’s idea that I dressed as a boy before the storming of Caen. He thought that it would protect me from the likes of you. Afterwards I had no other clothes to wear, and I considered it not such a bad idea to continue in such garb for my own protection. I did not want to become your wh — ’ The word stuck in her throat, and she came out with, ‘Woman!’
‘You knew the risks you took,’ he said in a clipped voice, going over to the stand where there was a pitcher of water and a bowl. ‘But be assured, mam’selle, that I don’t regard you as my woman. If what we did is so utterly distasteful to you, then there is no need for you to be subjected to it again. Our liaison is over.’