by Mary Wine
He turned his head so that their faces were a breath apart. His voice was low and edged with need. A shudder shook her, touching off a throbbing in her clitoris.
“I will also make sure those same villains hear how much you are truly my wife now.”
He reached up and grasped her, his hand cupping the back of her head and holding it still for a hard kiss. His kiss was demanding, but she met it because it was impossible to resist something she craved so much. Heat swirled through her belly, quickly and white-hot as his mouth demanded a deep taste from hers.
He chuckled a moment later, pulling his head away from hers just enough so that their eyes met.
“Out!”
His roar gained instant response; the maids scurried out of the bedchamber clearly having been listening. They inclined their heads on their way toward the door.
“Are you more pleased now, wife?”
Mischief sparkled in the dark orbs. He suddenly rose up and looped a wet arm around her body. She shrieked in surprise as he pulled her right into the tub. Water splashed up in a torrent. She sank down until her knees hit the bottom of the tub on either side of his hips. Her dress got caught on the surface of the water, slowly wicking it up before the wet fabric sank.
“Ah, exactly what I was craving, your thighs wrapped around me.”
He settled her on top of him, and she felt the unmistakable bulge of his cock between her open legs. Her stockings ended at her knees, leaving her bare thighs to connect with his. It was a true torment to feel him between her thighs. Need clawed at her, and he gripped her hips, increasing it because she recalled exactly how it felt to have his hands holding her hips while he rode her. The walls of her passage suddenly felt empty, too empty to worry about anyone who might be listening. The man was her husband, wasn’t he?
“Curan … they are no doubt standing outside the doors listening.”
She battled the urge to raise her voice.
“I do enjoy my name on your lips.”
His voice was deep now and sincere. But his hands lifted her up until his cock sprang up, no longer pressed against his belly by her.
“You cannot mean to—not while they are here.” It was a truth that most nobles did not care if servants were about. They did as they pleased, when they pleased. Most wedding consummations were witnessed as an added precaution against annulment. Gossip spread so quickly at court because nobles didn’t take the time to notice the staff.
“I assure you I do, and they can see nothing.” He lowered her down, the head of his cock easily slipping into the entrance of her body. Her own thoughts had prepared her for his entry; her passage was moist and welcomed the hard thrust of his flesh.
She shivered, caught between mortification and excitement. The maids couldn’t see anything, but they knew that she was seated on his cock. The act was darkly erotic, and the look of possession in his eyes doubled her excitement. She bit back a soft exclamation of delight as he filled her. Curan pressed a kiss against her lips, gently coaxing her lips to part.
“I want him to hear how you whimper while I’m inside you. I want to know that they will tell him that you enjoy being my wife.” He braced his feet on the bottom of the tub and gripped her hips tighter. His eyes glowed with need, and it was more than physical. Love shimmered in his eyes, a love that would not let modesty prevent him from doing what he thought best in order to keep her.
“Your dress covers you, Bridget, and the door is shut. That is the most privacy anyone has at court.”
He whispered against her neck, and she lost the will to deny him. She angled her head and bit him gently on the side of his throat.
“Ride me, wife.” Curan raised his voice so that it filled the chamber. “Hold on tight or I shall throw you!”
Her heart was already accelerating, sending her blood surging through her veins. Curan did not wait but lifted her off his length and thrust back up into her almost in the same motion. The water swished back and forth, getting closer to the rim of the tub, but that did not stop him. His next thrust was hard and faster. A whimper rose from her throat as delight filled her. His cock was sliding along her clitoris and producing too much pleasure to ignore. Her hips curled toward his next penetration, and there was nothing her thoughts might do to prevent it. She was responding out of instinct. Need fueling her actions while pleasure took command of her.
Curan pulled her close, so that she was pressed tightly against his chest. The position increased the amount of friction each thrust applied to her clitoris, drawing another cry from her lips. She shivered violently, taking control of raising herself up and pushing her body back down as well.
“That’s it, my sweet.”
The water was sloshing onto the floor, and she did not care. The wool of her dress was wet and scratchy against her skin, but his body was warm and smooth between her thighs. She clasped him tighter, rising and falling faster. His hands gripped her firmly, and she heard his breathing growing husky. His cock felt harder and larger with each downward plunge.
“Look at me, Bridget.”
His voice was raspy and low. She raised her eyes to stare into his, instantly hypnotized by the burning desire she witnessed there.
“You are mine.”
He surged up into her with his words, pushing harder while his hands tightened. His motions became frantic, but he clenched his jaw, holding back his own release while watching her face.
She couldn’t hold back the pleasure any longer; a harsh cry hit the ceiling as joy ripped through her. Curan continued to thrust in short, hard motions until she felt his seed erupting inside her. It was hot and touched off another little explosion of pleasure deep inside her belly. Her thighs clamped harder around his hips in an effort to keep his offering deep inside her. It was pure instinct, like the impulse to curl her hips toward him when he was thrusting into her. Little things that she had never known she craved until Curan touched her.
He clasped her tightly against him, his hands smoothing over her back while the water became placid once more. Bridget wasn’t interested in moving; she felt more content than ever with his scent filling her senses and his warm skin against her cheek.
In the next instant movement caught her attention, and her husband jerked as the two maids appeared and dropped a curtsy before departing.
“That should reach the chancellor’s ears before you finish stripping off your wet clothing.”
“Curan.”
She slapped at his chest but misjudged where the water level was and ended up hitting its surface. Water splashed up into his face, earning her a mocking grin.
“I admit that I enjoyed that part of making my case quite a bit.”
She gasped and tried to climb off him. Her wet dress made it nearly impossible to rise, the water-soaked fabric weighing quite a bit more than she was accustomed to. “You speak shamefully. It will serve you right if a bishop arrives to have you taken to the stocks for an hour of shame.”
He hooked her beneath her arms and lifted her out of the tub. Water rained down on the stone floor tiles, filling the chamber with the sound of rain when there was none.
“I speak the hard truth needed to end this dishonorable business.”
He reached for the toweling and began drying himself. “It is time I sought out your father. There are words we need to have with each other.”
“I agree.”
His hands froze, and he looked up to meet her eyes. Tenderness was shining in his eyes, by far the most beautiful sight she had ever beheld. He reached out and curled an arm around her waist. She wasn’t sure if he moved to her or if he pulled her against his body. Truly she did not care. All that mattered was the kiss he pressed against her lips. Soft and full of tender emotions, the caress was sweet, too sweet for words.
“You do not know how much I enjoy hearing such words from your lips, Bridget. I feel as though I have longed for them for two lifetimes.”
The approach of the chancellor was heard before a hand pounded on the d
oor. Curan’s body tensed, and in a flash Bridget was behind him. The men escorting Wriothesley did not wait for permission to open the door. A quick pounding preceded both doors being yanked open so fast the iron hinges groaned.
“Unhand her at once, Lord Ryppon.”
Chancellor Wriothesley strode forward without hesitation. Another man strode close on his heels, who could be no other but Lord Oswald. The chancellor was richly dressed with a large coat sewn with a wide fur collar. His chain of office was tied carefully in place at each shoulder so that the medallion with St. George slaying the dragon hung directly over his heart. The man aimed a narrow-eyed look at Curan, raking over him and even stopping at his cock for a moment.
Curan didn’t flinch. He stood tall and straight, refusing to be intimidated.
“Good afternoon, my Lord Chancellor. You will have to pardon my lack of clothing. We are very newly arrived and newly wed. You must be Lord Oswald.”
“I shall not pardon it. The girl is not yours.”
It was Lord Oswald who fired the accusation at Curan, but the chancellor sent his hand cutting through the air to silence the man. He shut his mouth instantly, sickening her. What a dog. He was everything Curan was not. A sniveling coward who waited for scraps to be tossed to him by his master. The man sported a soft, round belly that further confirmed just how much he liked to pamper himself.
“Not mine? Bridget is very much mine, sir. We took the church’s blessing three years ago. Henry was there.”
Curan sounded mocking and arrogant. More than one of the guards’ lips twitched in response. The guards held their position, yet it was clear that they did not respect the men they were escorting. Curan reached behind him and patted Bridget’s bottom. She gasped at the boldness of the action.
“Had you arrived a few moments earlier, you would have witnessed exactly how much she is mine.” Curan stepped over to where his pants were and pulled them on, still without any outward sign that he was embarrassed to be seen nude. “But your informants had yet to leave, hadn’t they? I believe they remained until we finished, so I will trust that they told you that Bridget is, in fact, very much my wife.” Curan aimed a look at the two maids who were now lingering behind Lord Oswald.
Lord Oswald turned red. He pressed his lips together and sputtered. “You had no right to touch her.”
Curan shrugged into his shirt. “I could not disagree more, gentlemen. I had the blessing of the church and the seal from her father’s ring to confirm that I had every right to plant my seed in her belly.”
Bridget gasped again, the blunt comments shocking her. Curan turned and offered her only a softened look before he pointed to the bedchamber.
“Perhaps you should see if those maids know how to do anything save carry information.” He shrugged, clearly uncaring. “At least change your dress, wife. It is wet.”
Bridget lowered herself before quitting the room. She discovered that her legs were shaking by the time she made it to the bedchamber. There was a snap from her husband’s fingers, and she heard the maids following her. For all of Curan’s valor, the chancellor was a powerful man.
“Make way for the king!”
More footfalls echoed around the outer chamber. Bridget peeked out of the open door and felt her eyes go wide. Henry Tudor arrived wearing a coat that was far richer than the chancellor’s. He was a large man who limped a little. Everyone lowered themselves, and his escort placed a chair behind him when he stopped.
“My leg pains me these days.” He sounded gruff and frustrated by the toll age was extracting on his body, but sank down into the chair, stretching his leg out with a soft intake of breath to betray how painful it was.
“Hurry, miss, they will be calling for you shortly.”
The two maids pulled her away from the door, reaching for her wet dress with quick hands.
Calling for me …
That was exactly what she dreaded. Tension twisted through her, but she was not afraid. Suddenly, she felt determination rising up inside her so strongly she understood why her husband was willing to behave so lowly and fondle her bottom in front of others. The reason was, when dealing with men of low quality, you had to make your argument in a fashion they would understand. Chancellor Wriothesley was a man driven by his own greed for power. He would never hear any argument that pitted honor against gaining what he desired.
Which was her. The chancellor would give her to his dog like a scrap of meat, happily doing so because he had taken the scrap from someone else and need not give his hound anything of his own.
It sickened her.
Lord Oswald began sputtering in the outer room, and the maids increased their speed.
“You’d best hurry, mistress. Lord Oswald does not like to be kept waiting, and he is sure to be cross with you for having known another man before him.”
“He’ll likely strike you, but better keep your chin steady if you want to earn his forgiveness.”
“He won’t want me now.”
The maids both froze, but it was the look of pity in their eyes that convinced her that they knew of what they spoke.
“He will, and he will punish you for not coming to him a virgin.”
The maids kept their voices low, to be heard only in the bedchamber. Their familiarity with Lord Oswald’s expectations set Bridget’s spine straight.
There would be no simpering to that hound, and maybe she needed to follow her husband’s example and fight the man in the manner that he would understand. She cast a glance behind her at the door that was still slightly open. Just a finger width, yet ‘twas enough for her needs.
“Ah! You clumsy fool! You pinched me. Awhhh …”
Bridget raised her voice just enough so that it would filter past the door.
“Look at my skin! It is pink! And it hurts! You must be the worst maids in all of Whitehall Palace!”
She added a few more wails that gained her wide-eyed looks from the maids. But she felt no pity for them.
“Pardon, mistress.”
“Mistress? You dare to call me mistress? I am a lady! Are you so simple that you do not know who your betters are?” Bridget made sure that her voice was whiny and irritating. She reached for a silver pitcher that was sitting on the side table and threw it against the wall with every bit of strength she might muster. It hit with an explosive sound, the water in it splattering across the wall before it fell to the floor with another loud clang.
“I am a lady. A lady! Do you hear me? You had better make sure every stupid maid that you call friend here knows not to forget who I am. I am set to be Lord Oswald’s wife. His wife. He is the very best friend of Chancellor Wriothesley who is a member of the king’s privy council. By tonight I will have a much better set of chambers, with a grand bed and the finest sheets. By tomorrow I will be a lady of the queen’s privy chamber, I tell you! And I deserve it …”
She stomped her feet and blew out large huffing sounds beneath her breath.
“Now get me dressed this moment. If you even know how to serve someone of my station, that is. Did you get promoted from the fields this very morning?”
“No, my lady.”
“I do wonder. You are so slow and clumsy … Completely lacking in any skill worthy of nobility … Your mothers must have cleaned privies to earn their bread …”
Curan lost his focus.
He gritted his teeth with frustration, for only Bridget could steal his attention so easily and completely. Her words drifted through the closed door with just enough volume to be understandable. He wanted to chuckle at how contrary she was behaving to her true nature.
Yet part of him was furious that she was not allowing him to fight for her. He turned his attention back to the men in front of him and watched Lord Oswald turning pale.
“You said she was country raised and meek.”
Something hit the wall, filling the room with noise. Chancellor Wriothesley looked disgusted.
“I read most of her letters when they passed through
on their way to France. The girl seemed sweet enough. There was no hint of greed in her words.”
“You read my letters?” Curan growled through his teeth, his temper nearly proving too much to control. His hands itched to wrap around the chancellor’s throat and choke the life out of him.
“I find that a most interesting bit of information myself.” Henry Tudor eyed his chancellor with growing unhappiness.
Chancellor Wriothesley laid a hand over his chest and stared at his monarch. “I read every dispatch that went on to Your Majesty. It was a precaution against spies passing false information to your Grace.”
Bridget was still having her fit, berating the maids and wailing behind the door. Lord Oswald was turning redder, and the man looked as though he had forgotten how to draw breath. When she began to use his name to berate the servants, his eyes bugged from his head.
“I’ll not have that brat for my wife. Absolutely not. I will select someone else.” He offered a wide reverence to the king before turning a swirl of his richly decorated coat, and departed, a few of the guards following behind him.
The chancellor lifted one hand that was sporting several large gold rings and began stroking his beard while he stared at Curan. “Interesting. I never perceived the girl to be anything but sweet tempered from her writings.”
For all his pompous dressing, Chancellor Wriothesley was no fool. His mind was sharp, and he did not like losing.
The king suddenly cleared his throat. “The nature of a woman is not easy for a man to judge. I have learned that lesson.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Henry shared a glance with Wriothesley that was very serious. “Perhaps you should take Lord Oswald over to York Place. I hear there are some newly arrived faces there. Ones I have not even seen myself.”
The chancellor reverenced his king, lowering his head in submission, but when he resumed standing there was a look of satisfaction on his face.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your concern for your humble servant is most treasured indeed.”