The Maid's Lover

by Amanda McCabe

  “I cannot help who my dinner partner is,” he answered.

  “Much as you cannot help walking in the garden with her? It must be such a terrible hardship for you.”

  Robert laughed, and pushed away from the wall to stalk toward her. He moved intently, but slow enough that she could run if she chose. She could not run. She could hardly even breathe when he looked at her like that.

  “Are you jealous, Anne?” he asked, his voice deep and soft, a caress over her skin. He backed her up against the wall, his arms braced to either side of her, holding her prisoner. He did not even touch her, merely stood so close she could feel every inch of his hard, hot body, inches away from her own.

  She had to force herself not to arch into him, not to wrap herself around him. She stared at his throat, bared by the vee-shaped jeweled collar of his doublet. His pulse beat strongly there, his life force so strong it seemed to wrap all around her; a ghostly, ephemeral, yet unbreakable bond.

  “Of course I am not jealous,” she managed to whisper.

  “Nay? I am. I’m wild with jealousy every time I see you laugh with another man. I want to call him out in a duel, kill him so you cannot laugh with him again.”

  Quite against her will, Anne felt a primitive thrill at his words. So she was not alone in this wild, unreasoning obsession. He was bound with her; unable to be together yet unable to break free. “There would just be another man to laugh with, dance with.”

  “And I would want to kill them all,” he growled. He bent his head, leaning close. His cool breath caressed her skin, making her tremble, yet still he did not touch her. “But I would not care at all if I knew you were mine, Anne, truly mine. I wouldn’t care who you flirted with, because I would know you would be in my bed soon. In my arms alone.”

  And that was all she wanted—only him. When they were near each other like this, everything else in the world was gone. She felt her hard-won resolve slipping away, yet she held onto it with the last fiber of her strength. She and Robert had to be together the right way, the forever way, devoted only to each other. She had to remember that.

  “You said we had to wait,” she said, turning her head to the side.

  “I am finished with waiting.” He kissed that curve where her neck met her shoulder, openmouthed, hot, full of desperate need. Her knees collapsed at the kiss, at the wet rush of passion inside of her, and he caught her as she fell.

  He lifted her high against the stone wall, bracing her around the waist as she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips. He bit at her soft skin, making her cry out with lust. His lips came hard over hers, swallowing the sound, blending it with his own hoarse groan.

  His tongue slid over hers, touching, tangling. Anne looped her arms around his neck, her fingers twisting in his hair as she tried to pull him even closer. How she had missed this, missed him! How she had lain awake at night in her narrow bed in the Maids’ dormitory, remembering his kisses, his body. Yet it was far better even than her fevered memories. The reality of his taste, the way he felt against her, his strength, was overwhelming.

  She tightened her legs around him, arching into him. They fit together as if made to be just so. He was hard in the confines of his tight breeches; he wanted her, too, as much as she wanted him. He also remembered how it was between them from the very first time, like tinder to dry summer grass. Just one touch was all it took for the flames to grow.

  He held her against the wall with his body, his hands dragging her skirts up over her thighs. The cold air of the corridor brushed over the bare skin above her stockings, but then he was there, the heat of him keeping the cold away. He yanked the lacings of his breeches free and plunged into her, tilting her hips tight against him.

  Anne moaned at the sweet fullness inside of her, her head falling back against the wall. Robert nuzzled her neck, his breath heavy on her skin. He drew back and drove forward again and again, his hands tight on her bottom. That hot pressure deep inside of her built and built, so sweet, so full of yearning and forgetfulness. So needful.

  Oh, yes, she had missed this! Missed the way only Robert could make her feel. She closed her eyes, letting the sparks inside of her explode.

  “Anne!” he cried against her neck, stiffening with the force of his own release.

  Slowly he eased her to the floor, holding onto her as she swayed on her feet. She buried her face in his velvet doublet, curling her fists into the fine fabric. The world, turned so thoroughly upside-down, refused to right itself.

  “You see, Anne,” he muttered. “I don’t think there is any reason for either of us to be jealous. I could not want another woman as I want you.”

  Want—but not love. Not marry. Anne just shook her head against his chest, afraid that if she looked at him she might start to cry.

  Chapter Two

  The cold wind caught at Anne’s cloak, whipping it around her as she stood at the edge of the freezing river. She tucked her gloved hands deeper into her fur muff, and thought wistfully of the warm palace with all its blazing fireplaces. All that comfortable coziness seemed very far away from the chilly, isolated clearing by the frozen pond.

  And yet there was really no place else she would rather be, for Robert was here. She watched as he built a fire with Anton Gustavson, the two of them kneeling on the frosty ground as they laid out the wood and kindling. The black velvet and leather of his doublet stretched enticingly over his strong shoulders as he leaned back to reach for more firewood. Under the shadow of his cap, a tempting grin spread over his lips.

  It made Anne smile, too, despite the fears and doubts lingering in her mind like shadows. There had been no chance to talk to Robert, to be alone with him, after their stormy lovemaking in the corridor. They could not stay away from each other, that was all too clear, but how could they be together? If they kept meeting in dark corners and hidden forest glades, it was surely only a matter of time before their families—and the Queen—found out. And Elizabeth did not care at all for her courtiers and ladies indulging in secret affairs; just look at poor Katherine Gray in the Tower.

  Robert glanced up to find her watching him, and he gave her a flirtatious wink. Anne laughed, feeling reckless. Even more reckless than usual. It was Christmas, after all! She was with him today. They had a few precious hours and she wanted to enjoy them to the fullest.

  “Anne, come see what we have!” Rosamund Ramsay called, and Anne went to join her and Catherine Knyvett where they perched on a fallen log covered with a blanket. They were sorting through a hamper filled with delicacies purloined from the Queen’s kitchens. There was wine, marzipan, cold meat pies, manchet bread and dried fruit.

  “Very well done, Catherine,” Anne said. “It is a fine repast indeed.”

  Catherine laughed nervously. “I did feel so terrible filching it all. But no one seemed to notice, so I suppose all is well.”

  “They are too busy preparing for tomorrow night’s grand feast to notice one or two little things missing,” Anne said, pouring wine into pottery goblets. “And even if they did, the Queen is too busy consulting with her Privy Council to listen to their complaints.”

  She sipped at the warming wine, watching as the fire caught and grew, snapping merrily in the cold air. The sweet-acrid smell of woodsmoke drifted over them. Robert and Anton looked entirely too self-congratulatory. “They act as if they were the first men to discover fire.”

  Rosamund laughed. “Better than letting us shiver here!”

  “Quite right, Lady Rosamund. I am glad someone appreciates our efforts,” Robert said. “What would you do without our firemaking skills on such a cold day?”

  Anne pursed her lips. “Perhaps that is the only useful skill you possess, Lord Langley.”

  “Touché, Mistress Percy,” Anton said, sitting down beside Rosamund on the log. They gave each other a secret little smile. “A palpable hit from the lady, Lord Langley. It seems we must work much harder to impress your fine English females.”

  Robert’s glance slid over Ann
e, and it felt like a slow, warm caress. “I doubt anything at all would impress such hard hearts.”

  “We are not so immune as all that,” Rosamund protested, watching her Anton as he unlooped the leather straps of his Swedish ice skates from over his shoulder.

  “We are impressed by diamonds and pearls,” Catherine said.

  Anne raised her goblet. “And fine French silks!”

  “Furs are rather nice, too. Especially a nice sable on a day like today,” said Rosamund.

  “I daresay we could also be impressed by great feats of strength,” Catherine added. “It is a great pity there are no tourneys in winter.”

  “We shall just have to make do with what we have, then,” Anton said. “As, alas, we have no pearls, silks, or tourneys to fight in. I challenge you to a race on the ice, then, Langley.”

  Robert laughed, pulling out his own skates from his saddlebags. “Very well, Master Gustavson, I accept your challenge! If the ladies can provide a suitable prize, that is.”

  “You shall have our undying admiration,” Rosamund said. “And a share of our picnic.”

  “A prize worth fighting for indeed,” said Anton, smiling at Rosamund. “And will you gift me with your favor, Lady Rosamund?”

  As Rosamund snapped one of the ribbons from her sleeve to give Anton, Robert turned to Anne. He still smiled, but there was a dark wariness in his eyes. “What of you, Mistress Percy? Have you no favor for this Knight Errant?”

  Anne made herself laugh, as if she had not a care in the world. “A Lord of Misrule is more like, Lord Langley! You can claim a favor after you have found victory.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed, a muscle flexing in his jaw. He turned away to reach for his skates. As he put them on, lacing the leather thongs over his boots, Anton already traced lazy, looping patterns over the ice.

  “Mistress Percy,” he called, “perhaps you would do the starter’s honors? And help to keep count—three laps.”

  Anne nodded, and drew a handkerchief from inside her sleeve. She waved the white linen aloft. “Gentlemen! On your marks…” Robert and Anton lined up at the icy edge, their gazes determined. “One, two, three—go!”

  The cloth fluttered to the ground and the men shot away. Both of them were fast and powerful, but Anne feared that Anton Gustavson, being from frozen Sweden, had an unfair advantage. He leaned close to the ice, seeming at one with the frozen expanse, as Robert tried to push ahead with sheer, innate speed. With the same single-minded sense of purpose with which he made love.

  Anne found she held her breath as she watched the combatants circle around again. Yet by the time they finished their final loop and slid past Anne’s fallen handkerchief for the last time, Robert was two steps behind Anton. He fell onto the log, laughing.

  “I am defeated!” he declared. “I cede all victory in ice-skating to the barbaric Northman forevermore. But not victory in anything else.”

  Anne watched him, transfixed by the light in his eyes, the golden glow of his skin. Their gazes met, and she gave him a tiny nod.

  As the others gathered around to partake of the purloined meal, Anne slipped away from the icy riverbank and tiptoed into the cover of the woods. She crept deeper into the shelter of the trees, the laughter fading behind her as the bare winter branches seemed to close in around her.

  She leaned back against a stout tree trunk, remembering another forest, one green and lush with summer. She closed her eyes, and could almost feel that sunlight on her skin, taste it on Robert’s lips as he kissed her. That heat wrapped all around them like fiery ribbons as they made love, lost themselves in each other.

  A cold wind blew across her face, making her shiver. Those summer days were a long time ago. She opened her eyes, and saw Robert standing across the clearing watching her. She could see that he remembered, too. But did he also long for the return of those days? Did he feel the tug of their undeniable passion?

  “You can claim no victory token now,” she said. “Master Gustavson has sadly defeated you in the race.”

  Robert laughed, and walked slowly toward her, still watching her. Anne pressed her back tighter to the tree as something inside of her urged her to run. Whether she wanted to flee from him or to him, she was not sure.

  She stayed where she was; a new warmth chasing away winter’s chill as he stopped mere inches from her. He rested one palm on the tree, just above her shoulder.

  “Perhaps I have come for consolation,” he said softly. His fingertip traced one long lock of hair that had escaped her caul.

  “I have no consolation to give,” she whispered, instinctively leaning her face toward his gloved hand.

  “I know.” He gently cradled her cheek, staring down into her eyes so intently she could not turn away. “I see you with your admirers, how they follow you everywhere, longing for some token of your attention. Some signal that you notice them, that you care. Yet you give nothing.”

  That was because she cared for none but him. And with him, she cared far, far too much. The more she was with him, the more she needed him. And that was what she feared.

  “A lady has few protections,” she said. “She has to guard her heart carefully, for it is the only thing that is entirely her own.”

  His caress slid down her cheek, her throat. The soft leather of his glove whispered over her skin. “Why do you guard your heart so carefully, Anne? Even from those who want only to care for you?”

  Anne swallowed hard, watching as he toyed with the clasp of her cloak. “Others have claimed to care for me in the past. But they have always left in the end, and I have had to look after myself. My parents died. My grandmother did not want to take me in, as she has too many wards already, but she feared what her neighbors would say if she abandoned me. My uncle wants only to use me further his own ambitions, by marriage or concubinage to a lustful old man. Any education or protection I have I had to gain myself.”

  “That is their loss, then.” Robert stroked the fur edging of her collar, watching her not with pity or contempt, but with an understanding that was almost worse. It was frightening, because she could feel those sturdy walls around her heart slowly crumbling. “They miss out on so much by not letting you into their lives. But not everyone is like them.”

  “Are they not?”

  “Nay. Some people want only to be near you. To please you.” He bent his head, kissing the soft, vulnerable spot just below her ear. “To let you please them. You truly have a generous heart, Anne. Open it to me.”

  Generous? Nay, she was the most selfish of creatures, for she wanted him all for herself. She turned her face to his, and their lips met. Their kiss wasn’t desperate or rough, but tender, almost sad, full of all the need and deep, deep want she could not put into words. She wanted to be enough for someone, for him. She wanted him to choose her, choose the home they could have together.

  Yet how could she truly, fully open her heart? Whenever she had tried, it had been broken. And she had never loved anyone as she did Robert.

  Their lips parted, and he rested his forehead against hers. He held her tightly, his hands on her arms, and she just closed her eyes to relish the closeness of him. If only every day could be like this, the two of them together!

  “Anne…” he began.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “Listen.”

  “Listen to what?”

  “Exactly. It is perfectly silent here. We are the only two people in all the world.” She kissed him again, his mouth opening in welcome beneath hers as his arms slid around her. She had thought the summer’s warmth was sweet, but now she found it was nothing to the winter’s crisp chill. The cold bound them even closer together.

  He pressed her tight against him, and she wound her arms around his neck, feeling his skin under her fingers, the rough silk of his hair. She felt his caress slide under her cloak, over her aching breast in the tight bodice. Under the velvet, he found the taut point of her nipple and stroked it until she moaned. She rocked her hips against his body, and found he wa
nted her, too.

  Her fingers slid down to press against his erection, but he grabbed her hand in his and stepped back. His chest heaved with the force of his breath, and she was sure his heart raced just as hers did. Yet still he held her back as she swayed closer.

  “Robert…” she began, hurt and puzzled in her arousal. “What is amiss?”

  “We can’t, Anne. Not like this,” he said hoarsely. “In the snow and the dirt.”

  Anne laughed. “The rough stone wall at Whitehall did not stop us!”

  “All the more reason why it should be right for you. A soft bed, wine, candles—everything perfect.”

  “I do not need those things,” she protested. “I only need you.”

  He shook his head. “I will show you that your heart is safe with me, Anne. And taking you up against a tree is no way to do that.” He held out his arm to her, as correct and formal as if they were in the Queen’s banquet hall. “We should return to the others.”

  Anne frowned, but she did slide her hand over his sleeve. “When will things be ‘right,’ then?”

  Robert laughed as he led her out of the clearing. “Oh, Anne. I must keep some surprises in check for you. When it is right, you shall see.”

  Chapter Three

  It had been days since the skating party. Days full of Christmas hunts and feasts, and Court intrigue and danger, too. Plenty of amusements and distractions. But no time alone with Robert. Not even a moment.

  Anne sat on the edge of her bed in the Maids’ dormitory, watching as the other ladies chose their gowns for the night’s festivities. It was Christmas Eve. The Lord of Misrule would be chosen to preside over the feasting and the mummers’ plays, to turn the Court all topsy-turvy. It seemed the Maids had decided to begin the chaos early, for there was much shouting and quarreling, much stealing of clothes and pulling of hair.