Lady Trent

by GinaRJ

  Perhaps not swiftly, but over time a lack of action on Marcus’s part would bring about a shortage of unity and peace. The nobles would begin to rise up against one another. The rulers overseas would catch them in a weak moment while the nobles were at odds with themselves and the emperor and would take advantage of that weakness.

  Jacob didn’t think he, himself, could stop pursuing peace. Not while he had breath in his body, which was suddenly feeling a bit weak.

  A sweat broke out and he knew it was the sickness…coming upon him so suddenly. Had this news brought it about? Did the outbreak of illness in his body actually have something to do with his feelings? Maybe so. After all these years of suffering on and off, maybe now he was learning something more about it.

  With the back of his hand he swiped beads of sweat from his brow and turned away from the window. He would not get sick, not now. This time could be the last. His heart would fail him for sure. Marcus meant such a great deal to him. Even more than he’d known, perhaps. Like a son, he thought. Like the son he hadn’t the opportunity to raise into such a fine man as Marcus Wren had proven himself to be.

  Who would replace him? Who?

  He’d said he had someone in mind. Jacob could not possibly trust any other man, no, not with those things he’d trusted Marcus with. There would be this constant worry, this continual waiting for some situation to fail. For something to go awry. To be betrayed, as he felt now. Was he truly in the right?

  “Milord?” He hadn’t noticed Mable who’d at some point stepped into the room thru the doors directly in front of him. He simply stared at her, waiting. “Shall I call upon the physician?” She asked.

  He hesitated, and then nodded slowly. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, do so.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Days passed, six altogether. He refused visitors during his sickness. When it was over he burst from his room like a new man and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

  His first feat was to pay Rachel a visit. The sickness, along with his refusal to see anyone, was over and forgotten—done away with as if to have never occurred. He did not ask about Marcus or about anything concerning those six days in which he’d lied sickly in his chamber.

  During that time, Rachel had simply coped, putting much of her time and energy into the governing of the palace staff. People were always coming and going. New members tended to cause uncertain havoc. The atmosphere amongst the staff had shifted such a degree that Percival had become overwhelmed and quite anxious. She and he together arranged the staff so as to eliminate all disorder, chaos that had arisen from the addition of maidens, pages, squires and even some guards. Together they simplified matters, and Percival was finally able to take a deep breath, relax and appreciate her all the more.

  She was in the process of studying the palace map, which up until this involvement with the governing of the staff had not crossed her mind as something in need of examination. It was as she did this, she heard the door open and footsteps. She assumed it was Tilly returning with a requested cup of tea. She extended a hand to receive it, but instead found her hand taken by another. She turned in her seat, looking up to find Jacob grinning down upon her.

  She was first shocked, and then overwhelmed with pleasure to finally see him face to face after days of being refused entrance to his quarters. Even despite the raising of her voice, the placing of firm hands upon the hips, the peering of demanding eyes…she had been turned away.

  Now, Father Nelson had been the one to soothe her in the beginning, for he’d been called upon by Jacob, and had spent a great deal of time with him, nearly an entire day. He’d assured her that all was well….Jacob simply did not want to be seen in that shape ever again by anyone at all. Only he’d allowed the priest that one day, and that one day only, and Edison, of course, and Holly and Mable.

  Her hand in his, she rose from her seat, and fell into his embrace, so strong and comforting just as she’d expected. He guided her chin upward and kissed her. She would have drowned herself in his kisses. But he pulled away and called behind him to Holly who she had not up until that moment noticed. Her arms were extended, baring some neatly folded articles of clothing which he motioned for her to bring forward.

  “Have you ever ridden?” Jacob asked her.

  “Ridden?” She raised a brow. “You mean…?

  He nodded.

  She laughed. “Surely you know it was forbidden. Even amongst common folk and heathen, women do not ride.”

  “Well, then, you shall learn to do so today.”

  The maiden handed her the clothing, which she unfolded and held out to view with much uncertainty: a pair of breeches and a shirt, suitable for a man. Had a woman ever worn such garments?

  “I had them made especially for you while you were away at Orland. The seamstresses are well acquainted with your measurements.”

  “Surely you do not approve of this. And even so…who else would?”

  “It will be well,” he told her. “There are places I have meant to take you, only we must ride to get there. You could very well ride with me, but I think it would be more enjoyable if you had a horse of your own, which I am confident you would learn to handle with ease.”

  So he left her alone to get dressed, and she could not help but smile and giggle at the image in the mirror, and to admit that this new look was something she wanted him to see.

  So she presented herself, noting the approval in his eyes as very many curves were revealed that had before been hidden. He quickly swept her away, and proved himself correct. He taught her to ride that day, and took her to those places he’d wanted her to see, specifically one. A place of sentiment which she assumed had come to his remembrance following Marcus’s announcement…during the time he lay sick in his bed.

  It was a graveyard. Not one where his fathers had been put to rest, for he made it known that those who became lord of the Great City were buried alongside the emperors in the Northern Isles. These were those who had no such privilege. His mother. His mother’s father and mother and theirs, his father’s mother and her’s. His two wives. And his son.

  There he knelt down, touching a hand to the grave. She watched from a distance, not really knowing what to do. She only knew to keep silent. For however long it took for him to speak again, which seemed a very long time as he simply stared upon the grave of his one and only child. He did not cry, no not a single tear so far as she could see. She only noted a barely visible grin upon his lips, and decided in her heart that he was thinking upon the pleasant moments he’d shared with his child. The good memories.

  He eventually stood. “Forgive me, I have lost track of time.”

  No need to apologize. I would stay here so long as you wish.”

  They remounted their horses and departed the scene, eventually entering into a field, which he proposed to use as a space for her to perfect her riding skills.

  “One never knows,” he began, riding along beside her, so close he was able to reach out and take her hand. “There may be a time when you must swiftly go from one place to the next.” His face became serious, but only for a moment. He released her hand, and insisted they speed their horses. She went along with him, and just as he’d supposed, she handled the steed with ease, as if she had ridden all her life.

  They eventually returned to the palace, and laughed as they rode by the many, many onlookers who gaped upon the sight with total confusion. All they could do was laugh about this.

  At this point they were both very hungry, so he made orders for dinner to be served earlier than usual, and sat in his private drawing room while the cooks busied themselves with the sudden demand.

  “I suppose I should change,” she suggested.

  He stood. “If it is at all well with you, I prefer you stay as you are.” He came close and suddenly took her into his arms, holding her. “Even if I may not have you,” he said close to her ear, “it does me good to see you as you are…the nature of your frame, which I find quite appealing. This g
ives my imagination further room to contemplate what is mine to begin with; although I may not be at liberty to examine…my imagination could use this new vision of you to keep me at ease a little while longer.”

  His words were very enticing to her. She felt an urge to tell him to take her to his chambers then at that time and to make love to her, but she did not. For she kept recalling his illness, his death which they all awaited, and the ever after…her future. Just what would life be with him gone from it? Never the same, she imagined. Not the same at all.

  Camille came to mind, and she now understood completely what she meant. A strong woman, she was, to have held on to her calling despite having known love for a man, lust for a man, having not succumbed to it, but to her calling only. Rachel wondered if she could be so strong.

  They were summoned to the dinette, seated and served. Shortly after, Percival entered the room with a message, stating, “It is from Sir Marcus.”

  Marcus, having also been refused during Jacob’s illness, had simply rode away and nobody heard from him, not until this—a message stating he was on his way to the Great City, and that he planned to stay a while during the construction of his home.

  Jacob was pleased with this, which pleased Rachel as well…for her husband’s sake, of course. He laughed quite pleasantly upon reading the message.

  In days to come Jacob ventured out very little…as if to completely and purposely forsake particular endeavors. He left the collection of rents in charge of one Sir Miles, and the disputes between the common folk in charge of one Sir Gareth. And other matters into the hands of Sir Edward and guards of his choice. Matters of the court were held off. Prisoners that were taken in…well, their cases were not heard so swiftly as once before.

  He did, however, begin to dedicate a great deal of time to studying his maps, which he gave no particular excuse for. Rachel occasionally studied with him. She was intrigued, for his maps were continually updated, and revealed so much more of New Ebony than she’d ever been aware of. Westerly’s maps were not so updated, no, not near as accurate as these. Quite the contrary.

  During the evening, he made orders to invite guests so that they could eat, drink and be entertained in the Great Hall. This became a regular routine. Also, they took time out to stroll about the gardens and along the shore of the ocean which she’d come to love more than anything else.

  “I hope you have not tired of me,” he said one evening while escorting her to her private quarters.

  “Not at all,” she said with a genuine smile, holding to the crook of his arm as they made their way up the hall, closer to her chamber. “I will likely be disappointed after this has passed and you decide to rededicate yourself to the activities you have placed into the hands of others, which I suppose to be a temporary arrangement.”

  They stopped before the door of her chambers. Caleb, who stood guard there, stared straight ahead as if to not acknowledge them at all. Such was the manner of any man in place of guarding doors and entrances.

  Jacob bent and planted a very gentle, feathery kiss upon her cheek. Her eyes closed while it lasted, and then opened again as he began drawing away. He gave the hand he’d held to a light squeeze before releasing it altogether.

  “Have a pleasant night,” he told her. “Sleep well.”

  And he was gone.

  ******

  She later stood out on the balcony, her gown blowing with the gentle evening breeze, and her robe which she’d left undone in the front flapping with the shifting of the wind. A fist pressed against her chin, she stared up at the bright moon, so many pleasant memories passing through her mind, this time slowly so as she had a chance to take hold of any single one and dwell on it a little longer than the others. She smiled at some of them, and then frowned as she considered her desire to be with Jacob, to create a memory she had only imagined, constructing images of her own as to what it would be like to have him make love to her. At times she burned for him to do so, and even trembled at his slightest touch. She was amazed at the power she had over the demand of her body, for despite the aches and terrible desires, she resisted…as did he, for he had not once tried to verbally persuade her to go against what they had agreed upon to begin with.

  She visualized him as she knew him to be, as she’d witnessed him to be, and smiled. As usual, the face in the moon smiled back down at her. She stared beyond at the city, lit up beautifully, making it all the more intriguing. The Great City was certainly worthy of its name.

  Her gaze lowered from the lights and the structures to the gardens below. Was it midnight already? She wondered, and did not bother to move while a damsel and her lover gave place to their desires. She simply watched, paying attention to every move of the hand, to every reaction, every kiss, and every gentle push after he’d lifted her skirts, unsnapped his breeches, and took her thrust after thrust after thrust. She noticed every pleasurable expression, and heard the sounds of their lovemaking, carried up with the breeze and into her ears.

  Very calmly she turned around, and with slow steps made her way from her room, her chamber, down the hall. She came upon the entrance to Jacob’s private quarters. The guards did not move, not even their heads, only their eyes as they glanced at her thru the corners of them. She stepped past them, pushing opened the doors, and entered Jacob’s private quarters. Slowly, she closed the doors behind herself, and took soft, graceful steps toward the adjoining chamber—Jacob’s bedchamber.

  At the doors she did not hesitate, but pushed them opened and went inside. Step after step brought her closer to his bed. She raised slow hands, using them to slide her robe down her shoulder, from her body and to the floor. And with another slow hand, she reached for the silky strings below her neck, pulling the end of one so that it unloosed the bow it’d been tied into. She stopped at the edge of the bed, staring down upon Jacob’s sleeping face, his still, relaxed form beneath the sheets of his bed. She took hold of her gown from the hips, easing it upward, and then raised her arms, bringing the garment with them, pulling it up and over her head, and dropping it onto the floor.

  Her naked body slightly quivered, not as she was cold. No she was just the opposite. She burned from the inside out so that even her skin was very warm. But she quivered as she contemplated the distance between herself and her husband, and how very close she was to consummating their marriage. It was impossible now to resist doing so. Yes, she would this night give up her virtue. She would this night for a certainty become Rachel Trent, Lady Trent…Jacob’s wife, completely.

  She stared down upon him. She did love him. She loved him dearly, and the idea of doing this was not regretted in the slightest. She wanted to be made love to by this man. Just like the damsel in the garden. She wanted to give herself to him. He could take this ache from her. Do away with it once and for all. Do away with the turmoil of wavering between emotions and affections. She would let him.

  She lifted a knee, raising herself onto the bed. With a slow hand, she took hold of the edge of the sheet, pulling it just so far as to slip beneath it. She slid herself onto the bed, under the sheet, and against the warmth of his body. She snuggled and then melted against him, almost as if to become one with him. This felt right to her. This felt pleasurable in itself, to feel the touch of his bare skin against her bare skin. It was almost as if they belonged this way.

  She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his strong chest. Jacob moved, awakening by the feel of her body against his. He lifted a hand and then lowered it to caress her cheek, her hair…as if to be sure it was her.

  She rose up upon one arm to look down at him so that he could see with his eyes…yes, it was her. Yes, she had joined him in his bed…naked, as was he. His tired but uncertain and confused eyes searched her face, and then her breasts, bare before him. Pleasure and desire and lust flamed in his eyes. She saw so from the moonlight cascading over them where they lied.

  His brows came together while a hand came up to caress her shoulder. “Rachel,” he whispered, and she
noted the sudden rise and fall of his chest. He ran the tips of his fingers from her ear, along her jaw to her chin, and down her neck. “What are you doing?”

  “Visiting,” she quietly said.

  “Visiting,” he repeated, obviously confounded.

  “I am sorry that I awakened you,” she said, although she really didn’t mean it.

  Again he asked, “What are you doing?” To this she raised her free hand, touching a palm to his temple, running it down to his cheek, and she lowered her face to drop a kiss upon his lips. She rose up again, not so very far. “I want to stay this night with you,” she told him, running her fingertips down his neck and shoulders. Again she lowered her lips to kiss him. He almost responded to this. She lifted her face only inches from his, adding to what she’d said before, “As your wife.”

  “Rachel,” he whispered, “What has brought this about?”

  “Desire that I’ve grown tired of fighting. Jacob, I do not care to think about the future and what will become of me. I wish to consummate our marriage…tonight.”

  He took her face between his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed her gently on the lips and pulling away asked, “Are you sure of it?”

  She moved closer, closing her eyes, and closed her lips over his, and then again as he returned the kiss. She pulled away, his face now a blurry image before her.

  “I love you truly, Jacob, and I have these desires inside of me that I can no longer overcome.”

  He raised a hand to the side of her face and smoothed it down her hair, afterward taking a lock and sliding it over her shoulders so that it covered her naked breast.