Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  I will not slap her, Nyssa thought, struggling to control her outrage. Was Anne Bassett really one of those stupid souls who believed women invited their own rapes? “What provocation?” Nyssa demanded icily of her. “When was I even in the gentleman’s presence that you can testify to, Mistress Anne? When have you known me to encourage any gentleman of this court? My reputation for virtue is above reproach.”

  “Certainly no longer, I would think,” Anne Bassett replied meanly.

  “My cousin, Thomas Culpeper, raped a gamekeeper’s wife last year,” Cat Howard said, coming to Nyssa’s defense. “She was a very pretty girl. She rebuffed Tom on several occasions that I was witness to myself. I would hardly call that encouragement, but he raped her nonetheless. He waited until her husband was gone from their cottage one day. Then, with three friends holding her down for him, he had his way with her. Men do rape women without cause, Anne. Perhaps you had best beware, for you flirt far too much with the gentlemen for your own safety, I fear. Why, even the king, I am told, is prone to force on occasion.” Cat Howard smiled brightly at the girl, but Anne was not yet beaten.

  “A gamekeeper’s wife is hardly a lady,” she sneered, “and certainly cannot be compared with one. Besides, the girl had probably had her skirts lifted any number of times, and enjoyed it. She but taunted your cousin. As for the king, Cat Howard, beware! You speak treason when you criticize our sovereign lord. It is his right to do as he pleases.”

  “You are heartless,” Nyssa told her. “No woman, no matter her station, should be thought fair game for violence by any man.”

  “Aye!” the others agreed, glaring at Anne Bassett and finally silencing her. The Bassett sisters were dreadful snobs, though Katherine was really the nicer of the two, particularly when her sister was absent.

  In late afternoon the queen dismissed Nyssa. “You may haf the next two days for yourself, madame. Even a lady in the qveen’s service should haf a honeymoon. Ya?” She smiled broadly, and Nyssa’s friends giggled while the other ladies looked scandalized.

  “Brazen hussy!”

  Nyssa heard it as she prepared to leave the queen’s apartments.

  “Aye,” was the reply. “She should be ashamed of herself, yet she holds her head high like a decent and virtuous woman, the slut!”

  Nyssa whirled about to see who it was who would dare to pass judgment upon her, but the queen’s ladies were silent now, though smirking. She could not tell who had spoken, for the voices, though plainly heard, had been unidentifiable. She walked over to the queen and curtsied low. “I thank Your Grace for her generosity and kind wishes,” she said.

  “Go! Go!” the queen answered, smiling.

  Nyssa found her uncle dicing with several of his friends in one of the public rooms. “Will you take me to your house, my lord? The queen has granted me several days’ rest, and I would retire now.”

  Owen FitzHugh nodded. “Do you want your aunt for company?” he asked her. “She is with Adela Marlowe, I believe.”

  “Nay, Uncle, I would be alone, I think,” Nyssa said.

  “What of your husband?” Owen FitzHugh replied.

  “Tillie has told his Toby where I am. He may come or not as the spirit moves him, but I will not live under Thomas Howard’s roof!”

  “He is a bad enemy to make,” the Earl of Marwood told his niece. “Be wary, Nyssa. Remember that your husband is his favorite grandson.”

  “If you knew what I did, Uncle, you would realize that I seek Varian de Winter’s best interests, while his grandfather seeks only the best interests of the Howards. My husband is not a Howard. Besides, the duke does not think women of much import other than for marrying off. Varian’s union with me is very much to his advantage. The duke will think me but a silly, temperamental wench for refusing to live beneath his roof. He will be glad when we shortly leave court. We are no longer important to his plans, and I am happy for that!”

  Owen FitzHugh laughed. “You have your aunt’s temper,” he said, “but your mother’s practical common sense, I am relieved to see. Very well then, Nyssa, I will escort you back to our house. It is fortunate, is it not, that I extended the lease through June, my dear niece.”

  Unlike the crowded little house in Richmond that they had rented, the house at Greenwich was a gracious and spacious dwelling set within its own green park. It was a relatively new building, having been constructed in the reign of the previous king, Henry VII. Nyssa had been given a large bedchamber with its own separate dressing room and even a small room for Tillie. From her windows she could see the beautiful park land about the house. She had scarcely used the room since their arrival at Greenwich, but she was pleased to have it now, for it meant she could be free of Varian’s overbearing grandfather.

  The walls of the room were done in a linen-fold paneling of richly polished oak. There was a large window with a cushioned window seat upon one wall, and a good-sized fireplace on another. The great bed with its heavy crimson velvet hangings was opposite the hearth. Next to the fireplace was a carved settle with a tapestried cushion. There was a large wood chest at the foot of the bed, and a single nightstand.

  “I want a bath!” Nyssa said as she entered the room. “A lovely, hot bath, Tillie. Use the lavender fragrance in the water. It reminds me of home. We will soon be going home!”

  “We’ll be going to yer new home, m’lady,” Tillie replied.

  “Nay, first we are going home to RiversEdge,” Nyssa said. “My parents must meet Lord de Winter before we go on to Winterhaven. The news of my marriage will be shock enough.”

  “And who is to tell yer mother and father of this hasty wedding that the king has forced you into, I should like to know?” Tillie fretted. “Me aunt Heartha will surely find a way to blame me for it, I’m sure.”

  Nyssa laughed. “There is no way Heartha can hold you responsible for any of this, Tillie.” Then she grew thoughtful. “As for Mama and Papa, I am not certain how they should be told of what has happened. I do not think they should learn of my marriage in a letter. It would be too much, and Papa would come raging up to court. I suppose I should discuss it with my aunt and uncle before I decide.”

  Tillie nodded. She agreed with her mistress that a letter would cause more consternation than was really necessary. “I’ll see to yer bath,” she said, and hurried off to marshal the footmen.

  The large, round wooden tub was brought from the dressing room and set by the fireplace. Tillie stirred up the coals and added more fuel until there was a fine, hot blaze going. The footmen moved swiftly with precision in and out of the room with their buckets of hot water. Tillie filled an open kettle and placed it over the flames so she might pour it into the bathwater when it began to cool. When the last footman had finally left the room, she added a goodly amount of lavender oil to the steaming tub, and instantly the room was filled with its perfume.

  Nyssa had been gazing out from her comfortable vantage point in the window seat. They were not on the river, but she could see it winding like a silver ribbon beyond the green willows. It made her long even more for her home on the Wye, in England’s Midlands. She sighed deeply, and turning about, arose so that Tillie might help her off with her garments. The warm, perfumed water soothed her soul as she sank gratefully into it. Court had been very exciting. She had certainly accomplished her purpose in coming, although not at all in the way in which she thought she would. But oh, she was so relieved that in just a few more weeks she would be going home! Home to RiversEdge. Home to Winterhaven.

  Winterhaven. It had a pretty ring to it. She wondered what it was like. Would it be as beautiful as RiversEdge? Or her own house, Riverside? Poor old Riverside. Was it never to have a family in it again? Her father’s half sister, Lady Dorothy, her stepfather’s mother, had lived there, but she was now almost seventy, and preferred living with the family at RiversEdge.

  It must go to my second son, Nyssa thought. Second sons have so little. What a startling idea! A second son? How could she be thinking of a second
son already? There was no first son. She was still not at all certain she was satisfied with this marriage into which she had been so suddenly forced. Would there even be a first son? And what if she had only daughters? And should children be born of less than love? She did not love Varian, yet he said he loved her. Ridiculous! How could he love her? He did not even know her, nor she him. She flushed. Well, he had known her in a carnal sense, but only once, and he had said the words before he had taken her. He had said them because he was kind, Nyssa decided. Well, at least it was something in his favor.

  Tillie, washing her mistress with cloth and soap, watched the play of emotions across Nyssa’s face. What was she thinking about? Tillie wondered. Was she dreaming about that handsome new husband the king had given her? Ohh, how the gossipy servants had descended upon her this day, desperately trying to ferret out of her all the juicy intimate details of her mistress’s situation. Men and women who had never before had time for her now attempted to draw her out. How long had her mistress been secretly meeting the Earl of March? Had she been a virgin when she came to court? Well, Tillie thought indignantly, she had sent them all packing. What could she possibly know that they didn’t already know? she demanded of them. Did a fine lady like her mistress confide in a mere servant? Because most of them were overweeningly proud, and considered Tillie of low estate, she had been believed.

  The upper servants had gone off disappointed, but May, Lady FitzHugh’s tiring woman, had smiled approvingly at Tillie when they were alone. “Yer aunt Heartha would be proud of ye, girl!” she said, and Tillie realized that May had guessed the truth of the matter. Of course she would have, for like Tillie, she was family too.

  The door to the bedchamber opened and both young women gazed up, startled, to see the Earl of March.

  “Good evening, madame,” he said quietly. “I understand that we are to domicile here until we leave court.” He gazed about. “It is a most charming room. Is there a place for Toby?”

  “I am certain my uncle will tell you where he may lodge,” Nyssa said, not knowing what else to say to him. “I think, perhaps, the bedchamber next to this one would suit you, and your servant. You will need space for your clothing, and my dressing room is absolutely full, I fear. Uncle Owen can direct you.”

  “Tillie,” the earl said with a smile, “will you go and speak with Lord FitzHugh for me. Then help my Toby find his way. We will call you when we need you,” he told the startled servant. Tillie looked to her mistress for guidance.

  “I will need Tillie with me to finish my toilette,” Nyssa said.

  “I will help you,” he told her calmly. “I am a most expert maid, or at least I have been told so.” He turned to Tillie. “Go along now, Tillie, and if you can help Toby get me settled, I should appreciate it.”

  “You are to remain, Tillie,” Nyssa said firmly.

  “Go, girl,” the earl told her, putting a hand beneath her elbow and escorting her to the door.

  “Stay, Tillie!” Nyssa commanded her tiring woman.

  The earl opened the door to the bedchamber, and pushing Tillie out, closed the door behind her, locking it. He turned to meet the outraged gaze of his bride of less than a day.

  “How dare you, sir!” she raged at him. “Tillie is my servant, and as such must answer to me first and foremost.”

  “Tillie is the servant of the Countess of March,” he replied. “She is liable to me now, madame, as her master. Would you like me to help you from your bath? You must be finished surely.”

  “Get out!” Nyssa glared furiously at him. “I shall scream.”

  “And what, pray tell, madame, will that accomplish?” he asked maddeningly, taking the towel from its rack by the fire, opening it and holding it out for her. “I am your husband. Who will interfere with me even if I should beat you? Under the law, both God’s and man’s, you are mine.”

  “You are despicable, my lord,” she told him tightly.

  “If you will not get out,” he replied calmly, laying the towel aside, “then I shall get in.” Pulling his boots and hose off, beneath her startled eyes he stripped down to his shirt and breeches.

  “You do not dare, my lord!” Nyssa said nervously.

  He threw her an amused look and unfastened his shirt, drawing it off and laying it aside upon the settle with the rest of his garments. “No?” he drawled, his hand moving to his breeches.

  Nyssa scrambled to her feet. “The tub is not large enough for us both. It is too full for two people,” she cried. “The house is rented and must not be damaged!” Why was he staring at her? And then she realized that in her panic she had quite forgotten that she was naked. “Ohhh …” Her soft cry echoed in the room. Desperately she reached for the towel he had tossed aside, rosy with blushes, her eyes wide.

  For a moment he couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight. His eyes hungrily ravaged her form. Wet, it glistened with the oily bathwater. He watched fascinated as a drop of moisture rolled between her pretty little breasts and slid down her long torso. She was all pink-gold in the firelight. Reaching out, he yanked her from the tub and pressed her wet body against him, kissing her deeply. He had never in his life wanted a woman quite so much as he wanted this one.

  Nyssa’s head swam dizzily with the sensation of his mouth against hers, with the heat emanating from his hard body. She knew so little of him. She certainly did not know him well enough to love him, but the feeling his actions engendered inside of her certainly was not fear. Raising her arms, she let her palms slide up his smooth chest. His very skin seemed to leap beneath her touch. It was then with wonder she realized that whatever it was he felt for her, she felt it also for him.

  He slid his hand up to her head, pulling out the pins that had held her hair up from the water. Her dark mane tumbled free, caressing her shoulders. He kneaded her scalp with his fingers, turning her head this way and that, his mouth never leaving hers. His heart almost stopped as he felt her fingers unfastening his breeches, pushing them down along with his linen drawers. He stepped out of them, kicking them away, his arms still wrapped tightly about the girl.

  Nyssa pulled her head away from his, gasping for air. Her eyes met his and she said tightly, “What is this I feel, Varian? What is it that makes me play the wanton with you? I do not understand. It cannot be love.”

  “It is lust you feel, sweeting,” he said low. His big hand slid smoothly down the arch of her back to fondle her buttocks.

  “The Church says lust is a sin,” she whispered, unable to restrain her own body, which seemed to want to press itself into his palm. “Coupling between a man and his spouse is for the purpose of procreating children,” she recited primly. “I have not heard it said that coupling should be an enjoyable thing, and yet I liked it last night when the pain was finally gone. Is it wrong for me to like coupling?”

  “Nay, sweeting,” he murmured against her lips, his finger rubbing sensuously against the very tip of her backbone. “And lust between a man and his wife is permitted, I swear it! The Church may not publicly say it, but they know it is so, and it is a good thing.” With his palm in the small of her back, he pressed her closer to him.

  Daringly she ran the tip of her tongue across his lips. She did not know why she had done it, but she had suddenly wanted to.

  His nostrils flared, and then he was pressing his lips against hers again, his tongue wild in her mouth. To his surprise, she did not flinch, but met him kiss for kiss until his head was spinning. Slowly he turned her about so that her back was to him and they could see their reflections, dusky gold and nebulous, in the narrow pier glass she used to inspect her costume. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his hands slipped up to cup her young breasts. He felt her struggle to control the motion of her body.

  Nyssa stared, fascinated by what she saw. She had never really gazed at herself naked in a mirror. Was it the firelight that made her body seem ripely lush? His hands were so big. Yet her small breasts seemed to fit nicely within the cups of his palms. She watched as he ge
ntly rubbed her nipples with the balls of his thumbs. Then bending, he kissed her shoulder softly, nuzzling the spot where it flowed into her neck.

  “You are beautiful, Nyssa,” he said low, “and you don’t even know how beautiful, do you, sweeting?” While one hand remained clasped about her left breast, his other hand began to caress her belly.

  She viewed him through half-closed eyes, tense yet relaxed. A single finger slid between her nether lips and burrowed itself deeply until it found her most vulnerable spot. She ground her bottom into his groin, and he groaned.

  “You make me feel so naughty,” Nyssa whispered to him.

  She saw him smile in the glass. “I like you naughty,” he told her, nibbling on her earlobe with sharp teeth. “I am going to teach you to be very, very naughty, sweeting, and you will like it, I promise you.” His tongue swept up the side of her neck wetly while his finger began to tease at her insistently.

  She wanted to close her eyes for this was too personal, but he would not allow it, and forbade her. She saw the subtle changes in her expression as he aroused her. Her face seemed to grow more wanton with each passing moment. Her body was afire with new and very powerful longings. She ached, but pleasantly so. She could see from his look that he did too.

  “Let us couple now,” she begged him.

  “Not yet,” he told her. He picked her up in his arms and walked to the bed. Instead of laying her lengthwise upon it, however, he placed her so that she lay sideways across the bed, her legs hanging over its edge. Shocked, but unable to move, she watched as he knelt between her outspread legs, his head pushing between her milky white thighs. She felt his fingers opening her, and then to her great surprise, his tongue began to play with her sensitive flesh.

  “Ohhh, no! No! No! You must not,” she protested feebly, but for the life of her she could not stop him. It was so delicious, but dear heaven, this had to be wrong! For a moment she struggled against him, but then the sweetness began to possess her and she couldn’t fight him. She just could not. It was too wonderful. And then when she thought her honeyed flesh could bear no more of his torture, he rose before her, his great manhood rampant with his desire for her.