TheWooingofLadyElisa

by Rosemary Laurey

  “I hope not, my sweet.”

  He kissed her again, but this time his hands stroked her legs and glided up over her belly to caress her breasts and then back down until she could not keep still. Her back arched, her legs flexed and a wild and ardent longing seized her. “I would we could lie here all night like this,” she said, and gave little gasp as he opened the neck of her shift and his hand eased inside to cup her breast and his fingers played her nipple.

  The priests called this sin, but why? If they were married it would be sanctioned. How could a few words and promises make such a difference? That thought faded away as Marco touched her other nipple and, pulling her shift lower, kissed her breast. She cried out with utter joy and gasped as he pressed close and she felt what could only be his cock against her hip.

  Dear heaven! “You are hard,” she said, “and large.”

  “Don’t let it trouble you,” he replied. “It is so, when a man loves a woman. You did that to me, Elisa.”

  “I? What did I do?”

  “You offered me yourself. A gift from the God indeed. And now I will give you myself, dear heart, but first…”

  He raised the hem of her shift and stroked her legs, flesh on flesh. She could not think of this as immodesty or sin. She could think of nothing but Marco, her lover. Whatever awaited tomorrow had no matter here in this small room, this bed. All in the entire world was here between Marco and her. For this moment, nothing else, no one else mattered.

  His hand was between her legs, parting them and stroking the inside of her thighs. With a shock, she felt dampness between her legs and wondered what was happening until he touched her there and thinking became too much. All she wanted was to feel as he stroked and opened her.

  “Sweetest Elisa,” he said, “you are nearly ready.” Then all must be well. She relaxed at his words then tensed and arched her hips as his finger stroked her harder. “Marco!”

  “Elisa, my love. I am making things easier for you. Preparing the way for my cock. Lie still.”

  Hard to do while her mind whirled with the wondrous sensations of his touch. Harder still as his fingers probed and pressed inside her. There was a stab of pain and she cried out. Excitement took her. Little, wild whimpers escaped her lips as he stroked her. Her hips rocked of their own volition.

  “Easy, my love,” Marco whispered, “almost done. He eased out a little then came back, pressing in deep. She was tender but the pain faded as he leaned up and kissed her. Then he was back, his hand down between her legs again as he stroked and rubbed her, and a wildness engulfed her reason. A wild flood of pleasure washed over her, rippling across her skin and surging deep inside her to the depths of her soul. His arms wrapped around her as she shook and gasped, and the wild rush of sensation eased.

  “Marco, what happened?” Whatever it was, it was wondrous indeed.

  “I am making you mine,” he replied, “and now, Elisa, it is time for us to have all of each other.” He settled between her legs. Spreading her thighs wide, he clasped her hips in his hands, lifting her slightly. “Easy, my love,” he said, “this may hurt a little but there will be pleasure, I promise you.”

  He was right. His vastness filled and stretched her but the lingering ripples of ecstasy eased his entry.

  As he pressed into her, she felt little tremors of sharpness, but her lassitude and utter contentment absorbed them all. He moved in and out, sending wild ripples of joy deep into her body as he gasped and panted until he called out her name and collapsed on her, supporting his weight on his arms as he went limp inside her before rolling off her as he slipped out.

  She sighed with satisfaction. “Thank you, Marco.”

  “My dear, Elisa, should be I thanking you for your greatness of heart.”

  “I think you were the one who was great indeed. At least in girth.”

  He chuckled. “Sweetness, after what we have just shared, my heart is yours, never forget that.”

  “As if I could.”

  He stood then leaned over and kissed her. “Stay, my love.” Crossing the room to the table, he returned with a napkin and a towel. Sitting on the side of the bed, he proceeded to wash between her legs. “We must remove all traces of blood and of my presence,” he said. “Nothing must remain that could arouse suspicion.”

  He was right, but it hurt deep in her heart to know he was removing every trace of himself.

  He dried her with a soft towel then, lying down beside her under the covers, said, “Stay with me a little while, Elisa. Before we must part forever.”

  She turned into his embrace and rested her face on his chest, hoping he would not see her tears.

  She must have dozed. Marco was shaking her shoulder. “Elisa, wake up.”

  She opened her eyes. He was dressed for riding and had his belongings packed and strapped into bags. “You must go,” he said, handing her her slippers and helping to fasten her cloak around her shoulders. “It is still very early and I pray you will not be seen.”

  “If I am, I am returning from the privy.”

  ”I will give you time to get back then I will awaken my men. We leave as soon as it is light.”

  Taking her heart with him. “I will never forget this night, Marco. Nor you.” She kissed him one last time, holding him close as he enveloped her in his arms. She wanted to stay in his embrace forever but it was impossible. Harsh reality intruded in their love.

  “Farewell, my dearest,” she said as he opened the door and looked out.

  “All is clear,” he told her, and she slipped out, glancing back for a final sight of him until the curve of the staircase hid him from view. Reaching the top of the tower, she ran noiselessly across the battlements. A pale steak of light showed in the far east. In a short while the cocks would crow and the castle waken.

  On her wedding day.

  Bracing against her future, Elisa descended to her room and a terrible commotion—screams and shouts and what sounded like heartrending sobs.

  * * * * *

  She rounded the last twist cautiously. The door of her chamber was flung open, Anne was shouting, Marjorie sobbing, one of John’s men-at-arms blocked the doorway as Edwin insisted he let him pass.

  Edwin stood in the middle of her chamber in his shift. As Elisa opened her mouth to ask what was happening, John approached, calling to Sir Mark and Lady Margaret to hurry from the floor below.

  “God’s teeth, what has happened?” John demanded.

  “Him! Him!” Anne cried, pointing at Edwin, standing there in his shift. “He came into my lady’s chamber, hit me and violated Marjorie!”

  “What!” Elisa ran forward, brushing past everyone to see Marjorie cringing on the bed, curled up like a sick kitten and sobbing, her shift torn and bloody.

  Elisa wrapped her arms around her cousin and glared at Edwin. “How could you!” she shouted. “Why would you use her thus?”

  “I came for you!” he snapped. “In the dark, I mistook her. She was in your bed. How was I to know it was your attendant?”

  “God’s teeth, Edwin!” Sir Mark asked. “Did you accost this maid, son?”

  He could not deny the evidence before them but blustered on that he thought it was his bride in the bed.

  “You thought to take my sister by force before the benefit of the church?” John asked, sounding irate and grievously offended.

  “My son, you have shamed me,” Sir Mark said.

  “How could you do thus?” Lady Margaret asked.

  “Where were you?” Edwin demanded of Elisa, sounding anything but contrite.

  “I stepped out to the privy.” May God forgive the lie.

  “This is a bad business,” Sir Mark said, shaking his head. “Sir John,” he went on, “let us talk, but not here. Come, Edwin.”

  “Can you care for her, Elisa?” John asked.

  “Yes.” Of course she would. “Have someone bring up warm water and a little sweet wine.”

  She would clean and comfort Marjorie. It was the least she could do.
Elisa’s heart wrenched, if she had not given her the sleeping draft, maybe Marjorie or Anne could have roused help sooner. But she also shuddered at the thought. It was intended to be her huddled and bleeding in her bed. The contrast with Marco’s loving brought tears to her eyes.

  But this was no time for weeping.

  With Anne’s help, Elisa bathed Marjorie as Marco had bathed her, washing away the blood and stickiness, dressing Marjorie in a clean shift and wrapping her in a blanket to sit in a chair while she and Anne stripped the bed and remade it with clean sheets.

  “I can’t go back in there,” Marjorie whimpered as they helped her back to bed.

  “Yes, you can,” Elisa said. “You must rest. He will not return. Anne will bolt the door.

  It was only unbolted to admit a servant with bread and meat, and an hour or more later when John summoned Elisa to the parlor.

  She had washed and dressed as they watched over Marjorie, so now she smoothed her skirt, tied a clean kerchief on her head, reflecting that in the commotion no one had noticed her shorn locks and, with dread in her heart, descended to the parlor and her fate.

  John was alone.

  “How does Marjorie, sister?”

  “Hurt, injured, misused and defiled,” she replied, wishing that Edwin was present to hear, but perhaps it was best he wasn’t.

  “So I told the Dounes,” he replied. “It is a tragedy for poor Marjorie but a blessedly happy chance for you.”

  “How?”

  “Edwin is gone.”

  “Gone but to prepare for our wedding?” She spoke sharply as her heart surged with anger.

  John shook his head. “Gone for good. This base act of his has provided your release. I told him, and indeed so did his father, that to plan to attack you on the eve of your wedding was the act of an honorless churl and to rape a young maid under the protection of Thorncroft was a shameful abuse of hospitality.

  “Then I crowned it all by letting drop that I had an informal agreement with her father that when she came of marriageable age, I had intended to take Marjorie as my bride.”

  That was indeed news. “Had you?”

  He shrugged. “Her father had mentioned the possibility when she first came to us. I considered the idea. I should take another wife but hesitated at marrying a giddy girl. However, that, my dear sister, scotched all argument.” As indeed it would. Raping a betrothed was merely anticipating the marriage bed. Raping another man’s promised bride was destruction of his valued property and a grave offense against manly honor. Elisa held her tongue as John went on. “In compensation, Sir Mark conceded I should keep half the land he agreed to settle on Edwin and made no argument when I said his son’s heinous act negated the betrothal arrangement.”

  It took her several heartbeats to grasp the full meaning of John’s words.

  “You mean…”

  “I mean, you now marry the man I wish, and I have every reason to believe from your actions earlier,” he smiled, “the man you wish.”

  Indeed she did, as he knew well, but… “Marco has departed. He was leaving at dawn.”

  “He did,” John said, “but I sent a swift rider after him. He will return and, I have every hope, be back in time for your wedding. You had best talk to Eoward to ensure all is underway then prepare yourself, sister, for your wedding day.”

  “I will.” Her heart all but burst with joy and sorrow. “But poor Marjorie? Will you marry her now?” Would anyone marry her once news of this spread?

  “Not if I am to retain the land promised me as compensation. I think for her sake, it would be best if she travel with you and Marco to a place where no one knows her past. Let her go with you. Anne can stay instead.”

  Seemed unjust that poor Marjorie would have to flee her “shame” whilst Edwin was free to remain and no doubt marry some other bride found for him. But Elisa was free and it would be kinder to Marjorie to take her away. “Let Anne come too, please, John. If she stays, she will be expected to marry the blacksmith and she wants to see the world.”

  “Aye, she may then, but you have much to prepare. I think this wedding had better happen with all speed, lest another delay arise. Be happy, sister.”

  “I will.”

  How could she not be? She was marrying her love—Signor Marco of Bella Vista.

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Rosemary Laurey is a graduate of London University and the University of Virginia. She taught for many years and on three continents before embarking on a writing career. Her work has received numerous nominations and awards, including the PRISM Best of the Best, the Scarlet Letter, The Laurel Wreath and the Dorothy Parker Award. Married, with three grown sons, Ms. Laurey now lives in Ohio.

  Rosemary welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Rosemary Laurey

  Southern Song

  Turkish Delight

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  Print books by Rosemary Laurey

  Southern Song

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