The King's Mistress

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Everything within her tightened as his mouth moved lower onto her neck and, as he teased her with tender bites on the skin there, she could feel the heat growing between them. The moisture between her thighs increased and she wanted him to fill her emptiness and make them as one. The layers of clothing they wore bothered her now, so she released her grip on him and stepped back to get rid of her chemise.

  He smiled at her efforts and helped tug the shift over her head. Then they removed his tunic and each stood naked before the other. The sight of his wide shoulders, narrow waist and hips and long legs enticed her to wickedness. Without moving closer, she placed her hand on his chest and let it slide down, exploring the hard muscles there and on his belly and down farther past his hips to his thighs. His indrawn breath told her of the success of her touch.

  Her body reacted, as well, and the urge to press against him grew stronger until she took the step that closed the gap between them. Now it was her chance to gasp as their bodies met and the heat of his embrace melted any hesitation she had. Marguerite felt her breasts swell against him as the hair on his chest teased the sensitive tips.

  Gathering her close, Orrick kissed her again and she felt his hand moving down her skin as hers had on him. Shudders of pleasure shook her as he found the wetness between her legs and teased even more of it from her. Spreading her with his hand, his fingers moved over the slick folds there until her legs trembled and threatened to give out.

  He paused and guided her to the side of the bed. When she thought he would pull her onto it, instead he sat on the edge and brought her to stand astride his legs exposing her heat to his touch once more. When she thought she would scream with the pleasure of his caresses, he slid back onto the bed and lifted her into his lap. With her knees around his hips now, she was more accessible to him and he played her body with a fervor that threatened to drive her mad.

  Marguerite marveled that he did not demand that she see to his satisfaction first. He gave and gave, stroking and tasting and touching and teasing her until, inflamed beyond her expectations, her peak was upon her. Wave after wave of throbbing pleasure surged through her, moving from inside her core to her skin, making her burn with his every touch.

  Just as she thought she was done, he turned her over and filled her emptiness with his hardness. As he plunged into her, she felt the aching grow until another peak and another overwhelmed her. He claimed her then, calling out her name and, after only a few thrusts, marking her with his seed.

  She was his now.

  It took some time before she could breathe again. He remained within her, not as hard as before, but still there. She clenched the muscles she had there to feel him deep inside and he laughed.

  “I feel you, love,” he said in a husky whisper. “Do you wish for more?”

  Orrick did not wait for an answer but slipped his hand between their still-joined bodies and touched the engorged bud between her legs. He rubbed it until she could bear no more and screamed out her release again. ’Twas his turn to laugh for he kept his hand there and touched her over and over until her body could respond no more.

  As she found herself sinking into the sleep that followed physical satisfaction, she thought it sad that men could reach their release only once when women could enjoy it over and over again.

  Just as the first rays of the morning sun pierced the darkness, she woke. Her body felt relaxed and complete as it had not in such a long time. This time had been so different than the first time when she had pushed him into taking her body.

  This time she had given her love to him, as well.

  He had not asked it of her. No words of love were spoken on her part, for she was not certain how to broach such a thing with him. It felt premature somehow to make such a declaration and she did not want him to think her false. So she tried to open herself to him and to accept his body even as she accepted his love.

  He rolled over and lay on his back now and she watched him as he slept at her side. His handsome features were even more so when asleep and relaxed. His lips that had given her such pleasure were opened slightly and his hair lay in disarray around his head. Her hand itched to feel the curly hair on his chest, so she did.

  Gently she stroked down, following its path past his waist and onto his belly and then around his manhood. She barely touched him, but that part of him reacted, growing larger and harder in nothing more than a moment or two. Orrick stretched beneath her touch and growled in a masculine voice that tempted her yet again.

  “Taunting the beastie, are you, my lady?”

  As an answer, Marguerite wrapped her hand around his hardness and caressed it. “Aye, my lord. ’Twould seem that way.”

  When he would have pressed her back against the bed, she pushed back and climbed over him. Sitting astride his hips, she brought her hair over her shoulders so that it fell over him as a curtain. Orrick tried to lift her hips to settle her on him, but she decided that this time she would see to his satisfaction.

  Sliding back, she leaned closer to his flesh and breathed on it. When it pulsed in her grasp, she laughed. “I feel you, too,” she said. Then she touched the tip of her tongue on the smooth skin and watched him react.

  “I think ’tis time to tame the beastie, my lord.”

  “If you dare,” he growled as he entangled his hands in her hair and held her there. “Only if you dare.”

  She dared.

  And lived to tell.

  No one said a word, but all seemed to know. Marguerite found herself blushing, blushing, at his every glance and every touch. And touch her he did as they broke their fast, as he assisted her from her horse, as they sat waiting in the abbot’s office. His hand traced from the line of her shoulder, onto her neck and around to her hairline. She shivered with both the memories of his touch in the night and with the anticipation of what would be in the nights to come.

  He had complained this morn when Edmee gathered her hair into a tight roll and hid it beneath a heavy snood and veil. Even as she explained that it was out of respect for the abbot and good brothers that she covered her hair so, he attempted to unravel her maid’s work. Now he threatened it once more and she tried to push his hand away. ’Twas only the abbot’s arrival that sent him jumping back away from her like a guilty youth.

  “’Twould seem that you have reached an accord then?” Brother Godfrey asked as he placed a package on the table and sat down.

  Orrick looked to her before answering. She nodded. “Aye, Godfrey, my lady and I are at peace.”

  “My heart is glad for you both.” The monk smiled. “You leave to return to Silloth?”

  “If that is what I hope, we will leave as soon as my wife sees it,” Orrick said, nodding to the package that Brother Godfrey had brought in with him.

  “As you commissioned, Orrick,” the abbot said, handing it to him. “And done just in time, it would seem.”

  She could not imagine what was in it, but Orrick now held it out to her. A bubble of excitement filled her. He had commissioned something for her? If his words were true, she thought she knew the contents. Her hands trembled as she untied the cord around it and opened the layers of waterproof canvas.

  It was! It was a Book of Hours, and as she opened it and saw her name inscribed inside, tears filled her eyes.

  “I thought this to be a bribe, but now I would be pleased if you would consider this a morning gift.”

  “A bribe?” she asked, her voice shaking as she held back the tears. “A morning gift?”

  “I asked Godfrey to see to this when I visited here after our wedding. I thought that such a gift might soften your heart to me.”

  “It might have,” she offered, laughing and crying at the same time.

  The book was exquisite with its illuminations and pages trimmed in gold. Each page contained prayers and a meditation for its owner and this one was personalized with her patron saint’s day decorated in gold leaf. Again, his kindness overwhelmed her and the tears fell in earnest.

  �
�Here now,” he said as he offered his sleeve to her to stave off the flow. “It is newly made and the ink will wash away if you cry like that.” His voice was gruff but it did not fool her now.

  Trying to regain her control, she asked her other question. “What is a morning gift?”

  “’Tis an old custom among the Welsh and others to give a gift to the bride on the morning after the wedding night. The gift’s extravagance is the way the husband proclaims his satisfaction with the marriage.”

  She could only imagine the cost of this book. “So, my lord. Are you pleased?”

  “Oh, aye,” Orrick whispered to her. In spite of the abbot’s presence he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. “Very pleased.”

  “And if a bride is pleased with her husband, how does she show him?” His desire called to hers and she could not help but tease him back.

  “She could always—”

  “Ahem,” Brother Godfrey interrupted loudly. “I am quite certain that you will find a way, my lady. Once you are back in Silloth, that is.”

  He busied himself wrapping the coverings back around the book and tying it securely. Orrick laughed and gave her another quick kiss before moving away.

  “My lord. My lady. I am glad that you are happy now in your marriage, but I do need to offer some advice to you both.”

  “Of course, Abbot,” she said. His words had given her solace and guidance before so she welcomed them now.

  “Take you joy in each other, but remember that there is more to marriage than the simple passion between husband and wife. There will be hurdles and obstructions in your path and you must work together to make it past them.”

  His words were more serious than she expected and she shivered as though an icy finger had touched the back of her neck. Shrugging it off, she thanked him for his counsel. At Orrick’s approach, she stood and accepted the book from him. After a blessing from the abbot, they joined Orrick’s men and Edmee in the courtyard and began their journey back to Silloth.

  Chapter Twenty

  “What think you of my decision?” Orrick asked in a whisper.

  “I would suggest, my lord, that you lessen the fine and increase the work he must give to you in repayment of his misdeed. The winter approaches and there is much to be done.”

  Orrick smiled at her words, for Marguerite demonstrated an uncanny ability to come up with more innovative punishments than the ones he usually assigned to his villeins and servants. This was the second time she sat with him at his manor court and even Norwyn bowed to her abilities. Norwyn usually handled this, but at least three or four times a year, it was Orrick’s custom to sit in judgment of his villeins and servants and to accept their payments to him as their lord.

  “Four pence and ten days’ work before midwinter’s day,” he called out.

  “Aye, my lord,” the man answered.

  Bowing, the man went over to Norwyn to arrange the payment of his fine and Orrick pushed away from the table. After several hours of hearing complaints, he wanted to escape. With Marguerite. Norwyn finally called out an end to the procedures and everyone stood as Orrick escorted Marguerite from the dais.

  Without giving her a chance to object, he led her down the corridor and up the stairs to his chambers. Waving off a few who followed them calling out questions, he did not stop. Once in his room, he closed the door and spun her around to face him.

  “Orrick! ’Tis the middle of the morning!” She laughed as he pulled the snood and veil from her head and loosened her hair until it fell around her.

  “I have some important matters to discuss with you, my lady,” he said, now attacking the laces of her sleeves. Tied too tightly, he moved to the ones at the side of her tunic.

  “I do not think you have important matters to discuss at all, my lord,” she answered, and she kissed his cheeks and forehead as he leaned to his task. “I think this is a thinly disguised ploy.”

  He would have words with Edmee after this about how she dressed her lady, for undressing her was taking too much time. Thwarted in an orderly approach, he pulled out his dagger and slit all the laces that held her clothes together. She screeched as she grabbed at the tunic and the gown and the sleeves, which left her chemise unattended. After sparing a half-second for regret, he once more took the dagger and sliced down the front of the chemise, opening her to his view and touch.

  Finally he could slide his hands up to cup her breasts as he had wanted to do the entire time in the hall this morn. He’d been away for five long days, arriving home this morn, and he did not want to wait until night to show her how much he missed her. Now she gasped at his touch, but did not resist his efforts. Marguerite covered his hands with hers and guided them down. With a knowing smile, he caressed her where she most wanted him to.

  “I think you simply wish to tup me, my lord,” she said on a sigh as he made her gasp again and again. She clutched at his arms and let her head drop back against the door.

  Orrick leaned down and took one of her enticing nipples into his mouth, teasing it to hardness with his tongue and teeth. “And do you have any objections to that, my lady?”

  His bold wife reached down now and slipped her hands inside his tunic, grasping his manhood. “None at all, my lord.”

  He tried to control himself. Truly he did. At first. Once she touched him, he tugged his tunic up, pressed her back and took her where they stood. He would have stopped if there had been any hesitation in her reaction, but there was none. Marguerite made him crazy.

  Finally, after more than a few minutes of eager thrusts and touches, with her arms around his shoulders, her hot mouth on his and her legs around his hips, she keened out her release and he let his seed spill within her. It was some time before their breathing slowed and he lowered her legs to the floor so she could stand.

  “I told you that you should have accompanied me to Abbeytown,” he said as a way of explaining his lustful behavior.

  Marguerite gathered the edges of her chemise, tunic and gown and pushed her hair out of her face. She looked as though she’d been caught outside as the sea winds blew fiercely. She looked wondrous to him. He ached to hold her, but the quick tupping did not give him that chance.

  “As your wife, it is my place to stay here and oversee your lands when you travel.”

  She walked into her chambers and dropped the layers of now-loosened and hanging clothes in a heap on the floor. Holding out the sliced laces to him, he refused to regret what he’d done.

  “Tell your maid not to tie them so tightly next time.” Orrick crossed his arms over his chest.

  “The girl is so moonstruck over Gerard that ’tis a miracle she can accomplish anything.” Searching through her clothes chest, she lifted up another chemise and pulled it over her head. “Does he feel the same for her, Orrick? I would not see her hurt.”

  “Have you seen either of them since we rode through the gates this morn?” Hopefully his man showed more finesse with the maid than his lord had shown with his lady.

  She glared at him through the open door. “I wish for more for her than just that. She was always kind to me even when I was abominable and I would see her happily settled.”

  Orrick smiled. “Gerard asked for permission to marry her as we rode through the gates. I told him to speak to you.”

  Her smile lit his soul. “’Tis well, then.”

  She moved around her chambers and then sat in the window seat, pushing new laces through the holes made for them in her tunic and sleeves. The changes in her these past weeks were extraordinary. When she first arrived, she would never had seen to her own needs in this way.

  “Speaking of settling in, how do Richard’s sons fare?” The castellan from his mother’s Ravenglass Keep had sent his sons to foster at Silloth. Their arrival just prior to his recent departure had forced him to expose the lies he’d told both Wilfrid and Marguerite about their work together.

  She glared at him for a moment and then her expression softened. “They are well. Thriving a
lready under Wilfrid’s supervision.” As if she sensed his fear, she shook her head. “I do forgive you, Orrick. Worry not over the past.”

  Although she still spent time with the monk each day, Marguerite’s time was now divided seeing to many more tasks. Under his mother’s tutelage and using her own intellect and instincts, Marguerite was taking over the responsibilities of lady of his estates. He’d promised her a spring visit to the southernmost of his properties so that she could see the extent of his—their—lands.

  He rearranged his own clothing and waited for her to finish seeing to hers. He would meet with Norwyn and his assistants for an accounting on the completion of the harvests in the village’s outlying fields. The weather had held steady and the crops of wheat and barley and rye were, from earlier reports, larger than expected. Together with those of his other villages, his people stood in good stead for the coming winter.

  “Where is my mother?”

  “She spends most of her mornings in the solar. Her women are nearly done the new tapestry. I suggested that she make a matching one for her own hall.”

  She rose and put her gown back on, tying it down the front. The tunic went on next and she could reach the laces under her arm. The sleeves presented a problem so he went to help her.

  “They are not her women, Marguerite. As lady of Silloth, they are yours.” Something kept her from spending time among the women his mother gathered in the solar each day. “Only two will go to live with her when she leaves in the spring.” At her glance, he continued, “Lady Anne who is her cousin and Lady Clare whose husband will take command of the soldiers at Ravenglass Keep.”

  If he had not been watching, he would have missed the pain that flashed across her face. He did not think it was Lady Clare that she would miss. Lady Clare’s babe usually spent some hours in the solar each day. A girl. About eight months old now.

  The same age as the child Marguerite left behind at the convent in Normandy.