Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  He stood, his legs pressing against the bed, and then leaning forward just slightly, he drew her forward, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs and buttocks until she was fully impaled upon him. His hands reached out to fondle her breasts; then, steadying himself, he began to slowly pump her with great majestic strokes of his manhood. He suddenly felt incredibly strong.

  Her breasts ached and felt hard, yet his fingers dug easily into them, almost hurting her. She felt him filling her, and it seemed that now he was bigger and stronger than he had been last night. Without knowing why, she wrapped her arms and legs tightly about him, gasping as she felt him plunge even deeper within her body. A sound something like a moan came from somewhere in the back of her throat. It did not even sound human. Surely she had never made such a noise before? There was no pain this time, only an incredible tension very deep within her that seemed to be building and rising within her until she was certain that she could not bear it another moment, yet she did.

  “Nyssa! Nyssa!” he half sobbed her name into her perfumed hair. “Dear God, sweeting, I have never desired any woman as I do you!” His thrusts became more and more frantic within her.

  She heard his words, and then suddenly she was lost, caught up in a rainbow-hued vortex that was spinning out of control, taking her with it. She was a butterfly, soaring, trapped in a maelstrom of passion so great that she had no control at all. “Varian!” She cried his name even as the feeling of pressure building within her exploded in a starburst of incredible pleasure at the very moment of his own release.

  He could feel his love juices gushing forth in a great discharge of sweetness that overflowed her womb. He fell forward atop her body, exhausted, yet filled with a contentment he had never before known. He struggled to raise his head, looking down into her beautiful face. She was pale and seemed to be scarcely breathing, but then she opened her lovely violet-blue eyes slowly, focusing upon him.

  “I love you, sweeting!” he declared passionately, and his look was one of great tenderness toward her.

  Nyssa burst into tears. “Do not say it!” she begged him. “I do not love you. I do not even know you! It is not fair! Fate has made us man and wife, but I do not know what love is. How can you love me, Varian? How can you love a woman you do not even know? Such things only happen in children’s tales of old. It cannot, does not, happen in our time.”

  “I love you, sweeting. I told you so last night. The moment I first saw you at Hampton Court I knew you were the only woman for me, Nyssa. I do not understand it myself, but when my grandfather so coldly suggested giving you to another man, I knew I could not let that happen. I could not allow anyone else to have you, to kiss your sweet lips, to plow a furrow in your love fields, my darling. You are mine, Nyssa. In time I will teach you to love me, I swear it!”

  He lay his head upon her breasts with a sigh, and Nyssa gently stroked his dark head. Can love be taught? she wondered. Her mother had certainly learned to love her father. Blaze had not even known Edmund Wyndham when she became his wife. And had not her stepfather Anthony secretly loved Blaze, even when she purported to despise him and held him responsible for Edmund Wyndham’s death? Yet eventually her mother had come to love her stepfather deeply. This was the way of her world. Still, it seemed so strange that Varian should love her when she had not even considered him as a husband.

  Suddenly she realized that she was hungry. She had not eaten since early that morning, and then she had had nothing but some bread and wine. “I am starving, my lord,” she told him. “Have you eaten?”

  He raised himself off of her and then drew her up onto her feet. “Has my love for you not satisfied your hunger?” He teased her with a smile. “Thou art a greedy wench, I find.”

  “My stomach is hollow, sir,” she told him. “My aunt keeps a good table wherever she may reside. She has been here for months now, and the cooks are well-trained by her at last.”

  “Let us call Tillie and have her bring us a full repast,” he suggested. “I find making love to you ravenous work, madame.”

  “Cover your nakedness, my lord,” she told him, climbing back into bed and pulling the coverlet well up. “My Tillie is a good girl. You must not shock her.”

  He pulled his breeches back on before calling for their two servants. Then he instructed Tillie, who wide-eyed went to fetch them a good meal. Toby was instructed to empty the tub and refill it for the earl.

  Tillie returned, two kitchen maids in her wake. The girls could not help but giggle at the sight of Lord de Winter in naught but his breeches, bare feet, and bare chest. Tillie rapped them both sharply on the back of their heads, admonishing them, “Mind yer manners!” She directed them to lay the food out on a long, narrow oak table which was set along the window wall. Then she placed a decanter of red wine and a pitcher of foaming ale upon the table, slipping the goblets from her apron pocket. With a curtsey to her mistress and new master, she quickly shepherded the kitchen maids from the bedchamber. Toby, having finished his task of emptying and refilling the bath, was already gone.

  “Will you bathe first, or eat?” Nyssa asked her husband.

  “The water is too hot,” he said, perusing the contents of the table, and then he observed. “Your aunt does keep a good table. I hope you will do so as well, madame.”

  “You will not find me lacking in housewifely skills, my lord,” Nyssa told him. “Is your home very grand?”

  “Nay, ’tis but a modest house. I have scarcely ever lived in it. You may find it old-fashioned, but it is yours to decorate as you will, Nyssa. I want to spend the rest of my life at Winterhaven with you, and with our children. I often think how lonely my father must have been there. He waited until he was practically an old man to marry, and then he lost my mother in childbirth. From the time I went to live with my grandfather, I spent only Midsummer’s Day until Mid-Lammas with my father. After his death I only came in September to hunt.” The earl took his plate and heaped it high with beef, capon, raw oysters, bread, and cheese. Seating himself upon the bed, he asked her, “What was it like to grow up at RiversEdge? Your father’s hospitality was famous. My father often remarked on what a fine gentleman he was.”

  “I do not remember Edmund Wyndham,” Nyssa said quietly. “I was not quite two when he was killed. My stepfather, Anthony Wyndham, is the father I have known. Growing up at RiversEdge was wonderful. I wonder now why I ever left it. I have five brothers, and twin sisters born six months ago. I will hardly recognize them when we go home. They were but a few weeks old when I left for court. I had ponies, and later on horses, and of course dogs, to play with as a child. My cousin, Mary Rose, was my best friend. We ran barefooted in the summer months, and rode our horses upon the frozen river in the wintertime. There is nothing special about my growing up.”

  “You had a family about you, Nyssa,” he told her. “A mother, a father, and a houseful of siblings. Your aunts and cousins live nearby, I know, for they are my neighbors too, and your grandparents also. You are very fortunate, my darling, in all your relations.”

  “Were you very lonely, Varian?” she asked him, suddenly aware of how hard it must have been for him, a small, motherless boy given over to his power-hungry grandfather to raise. There would have been no abiding love in the Duke of Norfolk’s house, or even time for it. Even the duchess had separated from Duke Thomas, and did not speak kindly of him.

  “Lonely?” Varian thought a moment, and then said, “Aye, I was lonely, Nyssa. People never thought of me as the Earl of March’s son and heir. I was always the son of Duke Thomas’s bastard daughter. Nonetheless, being brought up in my grandfather’s shadow was an education in itself. I had no time to feel sorry for myself, sweeting. He is a hard man, but he is also an admirable one in many ways. Still, I am of no real value to him, I realize. I do not like the games he plays, and he knows it. Now that I have a wife, it is time I returned to Winterhaven and took up my own responsibilities. The estate is large, and has not been properly managed in years. I wi
ll have much to do.” He looked at her. “You are not eating,” he said. “You will need your strength, sweeting. I do not intend to let you off so easily as I did last night.”

  “Is that why you swallow oysters so greedily?” she demanded. “I have been at court long enough to have heard of their restorative powers. Is it true, my lord?”

  He grinned wickedly at her. “You shall soon see, madame,” he promised her. “I advise you to fill your own belly while you may.”

  She flung back the coverlet on the bed, and sliding from the bed, walked naked over to the table where the food was laid out. She smiled to herself, hearing his sharp intake of breath. It pleased her that she was able to affect him so. Taking up a plate, she took a piece of capon, a braised artichoke, some bread and butter. Setting her plate in the window seat, she turned back to him and said sweetly, “Wine or ale, my lord? Tillie has brought both.”

  “Ale,” he managed to croak. Jesu Lord she was tempting, and he knew she was very much aware of it. He was suddenly amused.

  She filled a goblet and brought it to him.

  “I do not think I have ever been served in such a fashion,” he told her, chuckling. “Will you always serve me thusly, madame?”

  “If it pleases you, my lord,” she answered him demurely.

  “Eat your supper, Nyssa,” he told her. “I am almost through with mine. I have another appetite that will shortly need satisfying.”

  “First you must bathe,” she told him. Then she bit into the piece of capon’s breast she had taken for herself.

  “Only if you will wash me yourself,” he teased her. “I have always wanted a wife who would bathe me. And then I will bathe you.”

  “You forget, sir, I have already bathed,” she said, smiling at him. She was rather enjoying his teasing. She had never imagined a man and a woman could tantalize each other so. She finished off her capon and licked her fingers before picking up the chunk of bread she had taken for herself. Thoughtfully she smeared the butter across the bread with her thumb, then bit into it. She had certainly not realized that men, like boys, enjoyed playing games. These games, however, were surely of a more dangerous, though eminently satisfying, sort. She swallowed down her bread and then arose to pour herself some wine. He was watching her. She could feel his eyes upon her. It was exciting, and not just a little frightening. Nyssa wished now that she had not been so bold and had wrapped herself in the coverlet. Nervously she pulled the leaves from the artichoke and nibbled them.

  What an adorable creature she is, Varian thought. Nyssa. His wife. He could scarce believe it. They had not even been wed a full day yet, and he wanted her more now than he had before. She bewitched him, fascinated him, consumed him not just with her beauty, but with a mixture of intelligence, wisdom, humor, and sensuality. He had not realized that a woman could possess all of these traits, but then, he thought to himself wryly, what had he really known of women other than their lovely bodies? In his own way he was as ignorant of women as she was of men. What a wonderful time they were going to have learning about each other. He wondered if Thomas Howard had really known what a magnificent gift he was giving his grandson, would he have given it? His grandfather was not noted for his generosity, even to those of whom he was fond, and they were few.

  “I am ready to bathe you, my lord.” Nyssa’s voice broke the silence of the room. She looked anxiously at him.

  Varian arose and slowly stripped off his breeches. He held back a smile at her blush. It was charming that she could still blush, considering their last and recent lusty bout with Eros. Then she bent to check the water’s temperature, and he felt himself becoming aroused. He forced himself to control his randy member, saying, “Is it comfortable, madame? I do not like too hot a tub. The skin shrivels.”

  “I think the temperature perfect, my lord,” she answered, “but put your hand in and see if it suits you.”

  “I will trust your judgment,” he told her, stepping into the tub and seating himself. He held out his hand to her. “Come, madame. This tub was built for two, and I specifically instructed Toby not to fill it so full that two people would overflow it.”

  “You told your servant that we would bathe together?” Her voice was shocked. “Ohh, my lord, how could you! What will he think?”

  “It is not his duty to think, Nyssa,” the earl replied.

  “Mayhap not, my lord, but nonetheless servants do think, and they gossip among one another as well. Why, half the gossip at court comes first from the servants. If one wishes to learn the latest bit of scandal, one has but to ask the servants. I cannot believe that you did not know it!”

  He looked perplexed, as if such a thing had never occurred to him. Of course, she thought. Men were so damned dense when it came to the practical. They never noticed what was right underneath their noses. He probably never considered that all the information that his Toby passed on to him was but the latest gossip from Toby’s fellow servants. Even dear loyal Tillie, far more discreet than many, was prone to exchanging gossip.

  “Since you will be accused of deliciously wanton behavior, madame, whatever you do, come into my tub and join me,” he said. “I need you to scrub my back for me.”

  “I can scrub it from outside the tub, my lord,” she replied.

  “But I cannot scrub yours,” he said. “Come, Nyssa, though I know some people at court who do not bathe from one month to the next, I have not heard it said that bathing twice in a single day can harm you.”

  His eyes were twinkling at her, and she found she did not want to resist him. So far his games had brought her naught but pleasure. Besides, if she was to be honest, she had become sweaty during their lovemaking. Her skin did feel quite sticky. He waggled a finger at her, and with a small laugh Nyssa stepped into the tub, sitting opposite him.

  “There,” he almost purred, “is that not nice, sweeting?”

  “I think you a most outrageous and possibly dangerous man,” she told him. “How can I scrub your back from here, my lord?”

  “I shall turn about,” he told her, and proceeded to do just that before she might protest about water upon the floor.

  Nyssa took a handful of soft soap from the stone jar by the tub and smoothed it over his back. Taking up a soft cloth, she began to scrub him. His torso was very long, and his shoulders broader than she had realized, but then she had had little time to observe him.

  “Be gentle,” he teased. “My skin is delicate, sweeting.”

  “Do not play the fool, sir,” she scolded him. Carefully she rinsed off his back. “There now, you are done.”

  He turned so that once again they were facing each other. “Wash my chest now, madame,” he commanded her.

  “You are determined to be spoilt, I can see,” she told him, but dutifully took up a second handful of soap and smeared it across his smooth chest. Her hands rubbed with a circular motion over his muscled frame. She rinsed him, saying, “Now, sir, are you satisfied?”

  “I must wash you,” he told her, and before she could protest, he was rubbing soap over her breasts, fondling them, squeezing them, playing mischievously with her nipples.

  “That is not how to properly wash,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

  “No?” He feigned innocence as he rinsed her, and then bending his head down, he kissed each pretty breast in turn. “Now, madame, your back,” he said, but instead of letting her turn about, he slid his hands beneath the water and, cupping her buttocks in his hands, lifted her slightly before settling her down upon his raging member. Then pulling her against him, he began to calmly wash her back.

  Nyssa gasped, shocked by his action. She had never heard of people making love in a bath! His hands smoothed soap over her back, while at the same time she could feel him very distinctly deep inside her sheath. He was throbbing. She shuddered with a rising awareness of her own desire even as he drizzled water down her back. Then he was taking her face between his hands and kissing her passionately, his tongue foraging deep within her mouth, making her diz
zy with her own longing. She realized that their legs had somehow become tightly wrapped about each other, yet she felt like she was going to fall at any moment.

  “Lean back,” he growled in her ear, and when she did, he kissed the slender column of her throat, her chest, and her breasts, all the while thrusting with sharp, little movements within her. He seemed almost deranged in his longing for her, and she felt a strange wildness coming upon her. Her nails clawed at his shoulders and back. “Vixen,” he groaned, and his mouth fastened about one of her nipples, drawing hard upon it. He suckled her fiercely, and she moaned, her head thrashing.

  “Varian!” she managed to cry out. “This is madness!”

  “I cannot get enough of you!” he half sobbed. “Dear God, Nyssa, why can I not be satisfied?” He was kissing her frantically.

  She realized that she could not fight him, that she wanted his passion every bit as much as he wanted to give it to her. Passion, it seemed, was as addictive as sugarplums. She felt her body thrusting back at him, seeking the wonderful pleasure he had earlier given her. When it came, she wept in his arms, shattered by the tremendous lust that had overwhelmed them both, yet contented by the final outcome. She had never realized that married people made love so often and in such a variety of places.

  He tipped her face up to him and kissed her mouth softly. “I adore you, Nyssa,” he told her quietly. “You are magnificent.”

  She blushed. “I cannot help myself,” she told him. “When you make love to me, I truly enjoy it. I do not want you to stop, I fear.”

  “We have gotten water upon the floor,” he said, his face not quite as repentant as it should have been. “Shall I call someone to clean it up, or would you rather we dried ourselves off and found our bed, sweeting? A bit of wine to restore us, a little rest, and perhaps we may again this evening find paradise.”