The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  “Nothing happened with di Alba,” Luciana half lied. “I was only amusing myself while I waited for Papa to make a great match for me.”

  “I believe you,” Donna Clara said, although she was actually not certain. Still, if the girl had ruined herself, it was Donna Clara who would be blamed. She was a poor relation, and needed to retain her standing within Master Pietro d’Angelo’s household. What would happen to her if she were driven away? Better she follow the girl’s lead. “Signore di Alba was a knave. He hoped to force your papa into a marriage alliance by making you appear undesirable to a more desirable family.”

  “He was poor,” Luciana said scornfully. “Why would I marry a poor man when so many rich men sought after me? Di Alba was a fool. A handsome fool, but a fool nonetheless.”

  “You were foolish too to ever involve yourself with him, Madonna,” Donna Clara scolded the girl gently. “And now you must wed in England. The earl is a poor man too, but he is noble, and I am told he is respected. You will be a contessa. He will gain wealth, and your children will be nobility. ’Tis a good arrangement, and one made many times before through the ages.”

  A servant hurrying from the hall stopped when he saw the two women in the shadows, saying, “My master has sent for you, Madonna. Shall I tell him you are here?”

  “Buffone!” Donna Clara snapped, reaching to cuff the servant, who ducked the blow. “Say the signorina will join the gentlemen shortly.” She turned to Luciana. “Come, bambina mia. Let us freshen your hair and gown so the earl will be pleased to see you.”

  “Nay, he would show pleasure if my eyes were crossed and my teeth crooked,” Luciana responded dryly. She stepped from behind the carved screen and made her way forward. Reaching the two men, she swept them a graceful curtsy. “Papa. My lord.” She greeted the gentlemen in a deceptively soft voice, her eyes modestly downcast as she moved to take her seat on a stool by her father’s side.

  But the Earl of Leighton took her hand and drew Luciana to him. “Your father has spoken to me of your concerns regarding my daughter,” Robert Bowen began. “I understand. But you must know and accept that my child is legitimate. As such she will stand among my legal heirs. If you do not give me a son, she will inherit my estate one day. But I expect you will give me several sons, Madonna Luciana.” The blue eyes looked down into her brown ones.

  “You will walk with the earl,” Master Pietro d’Angelo said to his daughter. “You should know each other better before the marriage is celebrated.”

  Robert Bowen tucked the girl’s dainty hand in his arm and led her off.

  When they were out of earshot Luciana said, “I am glad you will not make me share you with your daughter.”

  “Her name is Cicely,” the earl answered quietly.

  “I do not care,” Luciana replied. “I shall never see her.”

  “Nay, you do not have to if you choose not to,” the earl told the girl. “You will be far too busy, lady. Your rich dower and your late mother’s reputation for fecundity make you worthy to be my wife. I will keep you on your back with your legs open to me until you prove fertile. I want sons, lady, and I mean to have them on your body.” He pushed her into a darkened corner of the hall. Then, taking her oval face in his two hands, he kissed her lush mouth with a hard, fiery kiss.

  Luciana’s heart beat rapidly as one of the earl’s big hands moved to clamp about her waist while the other reached down to squeeze her left breast hard through the fabric of her gown. His fingers found the nipple of that breast stiff with her arousal, and he pinched it several times.

  “I know the rumors about di Alba,” he growled into her ear.

  Luciana moaned against his demanding mouth. “Falsehoods!” she protested.

  The Earl of Leighton laughed knowingly. “We shall see, lady,” he said wickedly as he bit down on her earlobe. “I am no fool. If you do indeed possess a tiny heart-shaped birthmark upon your left thigh I will know ’tis you who are the liar, and not di Alba.” His lips moved teasingly across hers again.

  The girl grew pale at his words. “I am still a virgin,” she insisted to him. “I swear it by the innocence of the Blessed Mother! I am a virgin!”

  “That too I shall soon learn, lady,” he told her cruelly. Robert Bowen laughed again. “Do not fear, Luciana. It is your wealth that attracts me, not your virtue. But be warned: From this moment forth I will expect you to remain faithful to me alone. Should I ever discover you have not been faithful I will kill you with my bare hands, and be lauded for it. Do you understand me? You may whore no more.” The blue eyes had turned icy with warning as they looked down into her face.

  “Sì, my lord,” Luciana whispered. “I understand, but I swear to you that no man’s cock has entered my body, and none will but yours.” Dio! They had always said that the English were a cold race, but this Englishman certainly was not. He excited her! She felt the moisture pooling between her nether lips. She was already half in love with him, and trembled in his strong arms. He would share her with no other man, but she would share him with no other female. Even his little daughter!

  The earl was not certain how truthful his intended was being with him, but he did believe she was an honorable woman. Whatever had happened before she came to England would not happen again. He had learned by chance from a friend returned from Italy of the stories being bruited about Firenze by one Signore Vincente di Alba regarding Luciana Maria Pietro d’Angelo. Some gossips even said her father had spirited the girl away because she was with child. Robert Bowen knew that not to be true, for the Pietro d’Angelos had been in London for over a year now. His friend had also told him that Signore di Alba was heavily in debt, and had convinced his creditors that he would soon have a wealthy wife when Master Pietro d’Angelo returned with his daughter.

  “Do you believe me, my lord?” Luciana said softly, gazing up at him with doe eyes. She pressed herself against him.

  The earl laughed softly, recognizing her budding lust. “Soon, little one,” he promised, stroking the top of her silken head. “We shall not tarry on our way to the altar.”

  Several days later the wedding contracts were signed in her father’s London hall, the priest from Westminster who had drawn them up overseeing the formality. The spiritual blessing would be given and the ceremony celebrated shortly afterwards. Then the Earl of Leighton would take his bride home to Leighton Hall in Gloucestershire, where her duties as mistress of his house would begin as she prayed for sons.

  Luciana was almost weak with her excitement. She took Donna Clara aside. “You are certain I am still a virgin?” she demanded of her companion. “The old witch knew what she was doing?”

  “Her examination showed his fingers had slightly torn your maidenhead, but that it was still intact, Madonna,” the older woman said. “But to make sure your bridegroom is fully satisfied we shall begin this day to treat your sheath and its opening with alum to shrink it. It will make it difficult at first for his cock to penetrate into your body. He will be so aroused by it, and by your cries of innocence, he will not notice that your maidenhead gives way easily. And there should be some blood. But you shall also secrete a small chicken’s bladder of blood to break in your bridal bed so the earl will have no doubt as to your virtue, bambina mia.”

  “If my passage is tight it will hurt,” Luciana complained. “I felt his cock through my gown as he held me. He is a large man.”

  “You must bear a little pain, Madonna, so your husband will be content in his mind that he is the only one to have trod your love path. Better that than a lifetime of suspicion,” Donna Clara reminded the girl.

  “My father says you are to remain in England with me,” Luciana noted.

  “I am pleased to do so, for I am devoted to you, Madonna, and not just because we are linked by a small blood tie. I will always keep your secrets,” Donna Clara said softly, “and I will always see to your best interests.”

  “Old crow,” Luciana said affectionately. “Still, I am glad you will be with me, but
you must begin to treat me with more respect now that I am to be a great lady.” Secretly she was relieved her longtime companion was remaining. Donna Clara was often the voice of reason for the girl, and Luciana was intelligent enough to realize it. She would have someone with whom to speak her native tongue, and who could advise her wisely.

  The Church’s blessing of the Earl of Leighton’s marriage to Luciana Maria Pietro d’Angelo took place on a bright May morning. A feast was held afterwards, the invited guests coming from the community of wealthy foreign merchants in London, as well as several of the earl’s acquaintances. The newly married couple would remain the night in her father’s house. Less than an hour after the bridal pair had been formally put to bed Luciana’s genuine screams of agony as her bridegroom’s cock penetrated her could be heard briefly in the hall where the guests lingered. There were nods of approval in Master Pietro d’Angelo’s direction, and he smiled and nodded back in return. The rumors set in motion by Signore di Alba would now be put to rest, and he could return to his beloved Firenze to tell all of his daughter’s brilliant marriage to an English nobleman.

  Upstairs in the bridal chamber the earl fingered the heart-shaped mark on his bride’s smooth, plump thigh. “How did he know?” Robert Bowen asked her.

  “A group of us went riding from the city one day. It was hot. We stopped to cool ourselves by wading in the shallows of the river. I raised my skirts too high,” Luciana lied as she kissed his mouth.

  And Robert Bowen chose to believe her, for her passage had been so tight he could not believe any other man had ever gotten into her. And the tears of anguish upon her pale cheeks as he entered her were certainly real. His cock had met enough resistance in her maidenhead that he now believed for sure in her virginity, and there had certainly been a goodly show of blood. She had gained no pleasure from this first joining, he knew. But he would see she did in the future.

  They had planned to leave London the following day, but the bride was unable to ride, being sore. He had used her thrice on their wedding night, and by the third time she had learned the delights of pleasure. She was open to passion, the earl was pleased to find. He would have no need for a mistress for the interim. Finally, three days after they wed, they rode forth from the town. Master Pietro d’Angelo had promised to pay them a visit before he returned to Firenze.

  When several days later they arrived at Leighton Hall, Luciana was well pleased. The house was in need of repair, but she knew her father would give her whatever she desired to make her new home habitable and to her taste. The gardens looking out over the gentle hills needed serious tending, but the servants were delighted to have a new mistress to guide them. And if sometimes the Countess Luciana’s manner was abrupt, they hoped it was just because she was young and inexperienced.

  Master Pietro d’Angelo arrived two months later, in Midsummer, prior to his departure back to Firenze. He was very happy to learn his daughter was already pregnant with her first child. He was relieved to find her content with her life, and with her lord. He spent an enjoyable few weeks before traveling back up to London, and from there across the channel as he made his way home.

  Donna Clara had assured him all was well, and that she would send one of the homing pigeons he had given his daughter with word when the child was born. “She frets only now and again about one thing,” the countess’s companion told her father.

  “His daughter?” The merchant knew how jealous Luciana could be.

  Donna Clara nodded. “The earl visits his child daily.”

  “Have you seen her?” Master Pietro d’Angelo asked his relation.

  Donna Clara nodded. “She is a charming little girl, Carlo. Bright and mannerly. She would make a wonderful companion for the contessa. But Madonna Luciana will not share her husband. The servants have been warned to not even mention the child in the lady’s presence, for her jealousy runs wild. Perhaps in time.” The older woman sighed.

  Master Pietro d’Angelo shook his head. “Nay, Clara. If she will not accept the child now, she will never accept her. Especially as she is carrying her own babe. You know what I say is truth. Pray Luciana births the son the earl wants. It may ease my daughter’s jealousy, but it will never erase it. Just do not allow her to harm the earl’s little daughter. You know how she can get sometimes.”

  “I will keep them both safe, Carlo. For the love I bear your daughter, and for the many kindnesses you have done for me, especially after my husband died,” Donna Clara said quietly. “I will allow no shame to fall upon the house of Pietro d’Angelo.” Then she bade her relative farewell, and promised to pray for his safe journey home to Firenze.

  The summer slipped into autumn, and then winter. On Candlemas, the second day of February in the year of our Lord 1414, Luciana, the Countess of Leighton, gave birth to her firstborn, a son, baptized Charles, after her father. Thirteen months later, on the twenty-third day of March, the countess birthed a second son, Richard, and ten months later, on a snowy last day of January, Henry Bowen entered the world.

  The earl was more than satisfied with his three sons, all healthy and thriving to his pleasure. But he feared for his wife’s health, for she was easily impregnated, and three babes within three years would have killed a lesser woman than Luciana. He voiced his fears to Donna Clara. “I will take a mistress so my lusts may be eased,” he told her.

  Donna Clara shook her head. “She would kill you if she finds out, my lord. And she would find out. You know her jealousy. I know a remedy that I can give her that will prevent her from getting with child again unless you wish it.”

  Robert Bowen raised an eyebrow. “What would the Church say to such a thing?” he asked her softly.

  Donna Clara smiled a small smile at him. “What would they say to you taking a mistress?” she countered.

  The earl chuckled. “Do what you need to do, old crow,” he told her, using the affectionate term that his wife used for Donna Clara.

  The older woman knew Luciana too well to suggest she refrain from continuing to populate the nursery at Leighton Hall. Instead she began to serve her lady a special drink each morning to strengthen her. And when a few weeks had passed she offered Luciana another beverage that would keep her skin smooth and blemish free. Being vain, the countess accepted her longtime companion’s advice, and sipped from the cup each day. The earl continued to enjoy his wife’s favors, but for the interim there were no more children.

  On a perfect summer’s day when Henry Bowen was barely six months old, he was taken to the house’s gardens to be set down upon a small silk blanket, where he enjoyed the sunshine with his two slightly older brothers. The Earl of Leighton’s heir, Charles, was two and a half. He chased a ball his nursemaid threw for his amusement. Richard, the earl’s middle son, had just learned to walk. He eagerly toddled everywhere, his young nursemaid chasing after him. They suddenly came upon a little girl.

  “Orva!” Richard’s nursemaid greeted the woman accompanying the girl. Then she looked nervously around. “Should you be here?”

  “The gardens aren’t forbidden to my mistress, Alice,” Orva said. She was a tall, lanky woman with prematurely iron gray hair and sharp, dark gray eyes.

  “Who are these little lads?” Cicely Bowen asked, curious.

  “They are your half brothers, poppet,” Orva answered. She looked to Alice. “Which one is this? The eldest?”

  “Nay, this is Lord Richard, the second-born,” Alice replied, holding him by her side as he squirmed.

  At the sound of his name the child broke free of his nursemaid and, giggling, began to run off on fat little legs. Alice shrieked, but Cicely quickly caught the little boy by his hand, laughing.

  “Nay, nay, naughty one,” she said. “You must stay with your Alice.” She turned to Orva. “How many brothers do I have now?”

  “Three,” Alice volunteered. “We’ve been on t’other side of that hedge.”

  “Ohh, let me see them!” the little girl cried, and she dashed around the tall green hedg
e, where she observed Charles and the baby, Henry. “Hello,” she greeted them. “I am Lady Cicely Bowen, your big sister.” Plunking herself down next to Henry, who was lying upon his back, she tickled his little tummy. Henry chortled with delight, waving his fists at Cicely. The two other nursemaids stared, horrified. They knew the difficulties where the earl’s daughter was concerned, although they did sympathize with the little one’s predicament.

  Orva came around the hedge and, taking Cicely’s hand, pulled the girl to her feet. “Come along, my lady. Your father has carefully explained to you the state of affairs with his wife. If you are found here with her sons there will be merry hell to pay.”

  And the words were no sooner out of Orva’s mouth than the Countess of Leighton stepped into view and, seeing the four children together, shrieked as if the very portals of hell had just opened and demons were coming to take her away. At once the three little boys, frightened, began to howl in response to their mother’s apparent distress.

  “She is attempting to bewitch my sons!” Luciana screamed for all to hear. “Kill her! Kill her! Donna Clara! Donna Clara! Come quickly. Do not let her harm my boys!” And the countess ran forward to grasp Cicely by her long hair, and began beating the little girl. “Bastarda!” she cried. “You will not have anything here! My sons are the true heirs! Bastarda! Bastarda!”

  Orva had been taken by surprise by the countess’s attack upon her charge, but now, without hesitation, she stepped forward and pulled Luciana from Cicely. “You will not touch my lady, madam,” she said in her deep voice. Then, quickly gathering Cicely up in her strong arms, Orva strode off, carrying the weeping child.

  But Luciana recovered quickly from her shock at being manhandled by the big woman. She whirled to face the three nursemaids, who now stood cowering with their individual charges. “You will all be beaten,” she said in a dark and dangerous voice. “There will be no help from my lord for any of you, for you well know the servants are mine to command. Get back to the house now! Leave my sons in more capable hands in their nursery. Then you will come to me for your punishment. How dare you allow that bastard brat near my precious children.”