by Zelma Orr
“What, little one?” he said, lifting her chin with one finger. “Mayhap you are glad I share your bed tonight.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “You appear warm—and willing.”
Stephen did not often smile so she stared up at him, into laughing blue eyes, a strong wide face, straight nose a bit long over a hard mouth, softened now by the teasing curve.
He was right. She felt the need of his body as much as he needed her—for different reasons. He wished to show his male dominance. Hers was a gentler, uncertain need.
“Yes, Stephen.” She brushed her lips across his, and then leaned back to look into his eyes. “I am ready for you. I need you.” His eyes widened. “Am I wrong to say such to you?”
“The right words, Rebecca. Those are the right words to say to me, especially tonight.”
For weeks, she had known a restless, uneasy contentment around Stephen. She wanted to be with him and dreaded the times he had to be away, even overnight. When he made love to her, she responded, glorying in giving him delight if only for minutes at the time. Sometimes an unholy thrill wracked her body, but Stephen didn't notice nor did she mention it. He appeared not to care whether she responded to his lovemaking as long as his body was satisfied.
Tonight was different. Stephen knew this, as did Rebecca.
He feathered kisses over her forehead, found her ear to breathe words she blushed to hear but reveled in just the same. His hands roamed her body as he kissed her, probing with his tongue. She had become accustomed to that kind of kissing from Stephen, had even learned to enjoy it and, tonight, she opened her mouth willingly, seeking an end to the yearning inside her. She became aware of Stephen's hand tearing at her gown, and then she lay naked beneath him.
“You are lovely,” he murmured as he found small breasts waiting for him. He took one into his mouth, suckling, wrapping his tongue to pull until she gasped his name, her body twisting, pushing upward against him.
Releasing her breast, he raised himself over her, his eyes traveling downward. He kissed the flat paleness of her belly and moved so he could view the dark blonde nest between her legs. With a deep growl, he buried his mouth in her warm center. Rebecca cried out, and lost her breath as his tongue plunged inside her. Her body arched upward, and fire consumed her.
An instant later, he was up on his knees over her, parting her thighs, mounting her. He entered her quickly, but only part way, hesitating until her eyes opened,
begging—and he knew it. He smiled but he, too, was trembling, his throbbing hardness eager to be sheathed inside the soft moistness of his wife. A second longer, he restrained himself, and then plunged to bury himself fully inside her. Someone cried out. He neither knew nor cared who as their bodies became one.
She had never been like this, not in the entire year of their marriage. Not even in their recent torrid lovemaking had she responded like this. She was different, special, and she was driving him insane. Her hands were everywhere on him, her mouth open and seeking, her tongue moving with lightning strokes in and out of his mouth, hips surging upward to meet his lightning-quick strokes.
Beneath him, Rebecca writhed, hands pummeling his shoulders, balled fists rubbing up and down his back, then her hands opened and fingernails scraped his skin, digging. He did not notice. His heart pounded as he gave into savage desire to possess her, a desire that sparkled and shimmered beyond anything he had ever known while Rebecca went wild under him.
“Stephen, oh, Stephen, my love,” she cried out.
He kissed her hard as he drove her against the bed with powerful and uncontrolled thrusts, muffling his own shouts in her hair.
His loins burst, flooding her with his hot seed.
And, so it was the night Rebecca realized she was in love with her husband, the night she conceived his son.
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Eight
Excitement added color to Rebecca's cheeks as she peered from the carriage window at the snow-covered countryside. Only a few hours and she would see Richard again. And Sir Oliver and Lady Elizabeth, too, of course.
“I will be gone more than a fortnight, Rebecca, as I must see to the finishing of the rooms at the manor house. I will send Aubin with you to travel to Gloucester for a visit with Sir Oliver if you wish.”
She was disappointed Stephen did not invite her to go along with him. The trip during the Christmas holidays still warmed her thoughts as she recalled meeting beautiful Queen Eleanor, talking to her about the troubadours who entertained them with songs and readings.
She blushed even more as she remembered Stephen's passionate lovemaking and her own unrestrained response in the large room of the royal palace. For her, it had been special. The way he'd held her, cried out her name as he emptied himself into her. Not once, but several times. The memories were sweet and she held them to herself. She was not sure if it affected Stephen in the same way, and she was reluctant to ask.
Suppose he did not know what she was talking about? Suppose he laughed at her, saying she was becoming wanton as she grew older. No, she would keep the tender yearning for her husband as her own secret.
“You do wish to visit your parents, do you not, Rebecca?”
“Yes, of course,” she said and went to help Malvina lay out what she would take with her.
Now it was only a matter of a few hours until she would arrive at Grinwold again.
Well, she thought, gazing into the snow-covered distance. At least, I do not have to worry about papa trading me. And, for a moment, the old hurt surfaced as she recalled the cold business transaction that made her Stephen's wife. Traded. To settle gambling debts. Only sixteen and turned over to a stranger without a thought for Rebecca's feelings.
It has not been so bad. She could admit it now. Stephen is a much better master than papa. Even if he doesn't love me, he takes care of me, buys me pretty gowns, things papa had never thought to do.
* * * *
Sir Oliver had changed little except to grow rounder at this middle. His lips were paler, pursing thinly as he gazed at his daughter. He grunted and turned away as Lady Elizabeth hugged Rebecca and shed tears of happiness at seeing her.
“And where is that husband of yours?” Sir Oliver said as they sat in front of an open fire.
The room was dark and gloomy compared to the great room in Stephen's home. It smelled of disuse, as though it stayed closed without sunlight. Of course, with the cold weather ...
“Sir Stephen is seeing to the manor house he is building near Salisbury, Papa. He will also see King Henry about new taxes he must collect.”
“Hmmph. And where are we supposed to get money to pay more and more forfeiture to the king's coffers? Foresooth, and he could lower taxes if he would but stay in the palace and rule as he is chosen to do.”
Taxes were unpopular, and Rebecca knew Stephen worried about the constant increase in the king's demands. Still, she could not change anything. Besides, it was Stephen's job.
“Will Richard be home soon?” she said to turn Papa's mind from the king.
“On the morrow,” Lady Elizabeth said. “He was sore disappointed when you left with Sir Stephen and did not say goodbye to him. It will be a good surprise for him to find you here.”
Rebecca refused to remind her mother that it hadn't been her fault she couldn't see Richard before Stephen took her to Glastonbury. Resentment still rankled after all this time.
“Did Peter come for Christmas?” She changed the subject to get her mind off her bitterness at papa's selling her to Stephen. It was over—and she was the one who had gained from the exchange.
“No, they didn't visit. They are expecting a child within a fortnight, and Virginia is not able to travel.” Lady Elizabeth eyed Rebecca's slender figure. “Are you with child?”
Sir Oliver turned sharp eyes towards her as she answered.
“No, Mother.”
“And what is Stephen waiting for?” Sir Oliver demanded to know.
“There is no hurry for children, Papa. It is a bad time in England with all the trouble brewing there and in France.”
“What do you know of trouble?”
“Stephen worries about King Henry and his disagreement with Sir Thomas. There is much bitterness between the men who were such close friends.”
“For once the king is right,” Sir Oliver said. He glared first at Rebecca, then at Lady Elizabeth as though daring them to dispute his words. “There should be that separation between church and state. Sir Thomas has no cause to claim everything for the church.”
“It will work itself out,” Lady Elizabeth said. “Come, Rebecca, you must be tired. I will make your bed ready.”
Rebecca was standing at the small window in her bedroom when she saw Richard pushing through the snow. With a small cry, she darted from the room and down the steps, slamming open the heavy door outside the great room. She hurled herself into her brother's arms before he could brace himself, and they went down into the snow.
“Richard, oh, Richard, I am most happy to see you.”
“Rebecca! It is you! Where did you come from? Let me look at you. You have become a lovely woman.” Richard hauled himself up, clutching Rebecca with him. He laughed and gathered her closely to him and dragged her along into the house.
“Not a good reason to leave the fields, Richard,” Sir Oliver said.
“I left plenty of food for the cows and sheep, Papa,” Richard said and turned from his father.
There had been no change in their relationship, Rebecca saw. Papa still harped at Richard for little or nothing. He never spoke that way to Peter. Like Rebecca, Richard had given up long ago trying to please Sir Oliver.
“I went to the royal palace for the Christmas festivities, Richard, and there were troubadours and jongleurs and music of all kinds. I sat with the queen while Stephen took care of the king's business.”
“Did you read Queen Eleanor one of your own poems, Rebecca?” Richard laughed at the thought. “Chances are they're better than the people she pays for such things.”
Rebecca laughed, too, remembering the silly poems she wrote for her brother, ones she'd read to him as they sat together tending the flocks on the far side of papa's lands.
“I brought a poem for your birthday, but you must read it after I have gone. It is, well, rather silly, you know.”
“All poems are silly,” Sir Oliver said. “You waste time writing when you have no use for such frivolity.”
Richard opened his mouth, but Rebecca slipped her hand through his arm and pulled him towards her room.
“I brought you something else, too,” she whispered as they walked down the hall.
Inside the small, dark room that was hers for sixteen years, Rebecca dragged open her clothes case, putting her hand into a side closure, bringing forth a small package.
Richard took it, smiling at his sister, thinking how much she had grown in the near two years since he last saw her. And more beautiful. How he'd missed her sunny smile and happy disposition. He tore open the package and stared at the small cigars, packed with dark tobacco.
“Rebecca, these cost much, and a woman cannot purchase such. Where did you get them?”
“Stephen got them from King Henry and I took them from his waistcoat. I do not like the taste of them when he kisses me and so...”
She stopped, startled at what she had said to her brother. Blushing, she shook her head.
“Is Sir Stephen good to you, Rebecca?”
Richard's voice was gentle. He had not met Sir Stephen when he came for Rebecca, and his parents did not speak often of him. Nor of Rebecca. It was as though she was gone forever and could be forgotten. But after months of absence, Richard sorely missed his beloved sister, her visits to his fields, her lively chatter, and her delight just in being with him away from Sir Oliver.
“Yes, Richard. You would like Stephen. He is generous and much the better man than Papa.”
“And you are happy?”
It had been a long time since she thought of whether she was happy or not.
“I am content to stay with Stephen, Richard, but I do miss you still.”
“As long as you are happy, do not have regrets, Rebecca. You are right. Papa is not a pleasant man to live with. That is why I stay on my piece of land instead of at home.”
Her expression brightened.
“Oh, Richard, you would love Stephen's home. It is big, and there are many kitchens and bedrooms. His animals are all in sturdy buildings away from the main house. And he has this giant stallion he calls Tor. I ride him while Stephen travels. There are not many moors near his lands, but there are the Moon Cliffs and a rocky beach. You cannot swim in the rough waves, but I walk along and pick up shells.”
Richard watched as Rebecca talked, her eyes shining and alive, telling him more of her happiness than she could ever say in mere words. He had sorely missed her when Papa gave her to Sir Stephen, and he'd often wondered if she were happy.
Now he knew—and he would not worry about her anymore.
“You love Sir Stephen, Rebecca?”
She had been barely sixteen when she married the stranger from Glastonbury. Now eighteen, she had grown from a thin child to a lovely woman.
She turned away so Richard could not see her troubled expression or the yearning in her heart to have Stephen return her love. Love she had just discovered for herself. Richard's hands on her shoulders turned her back to face him, and she knew there was no use denying that love to him.
“Aye, ‘tis true, Richard. But, Sir Stephen, he knows not ...” she tried to smile.
“...'Tis thought he is still in love with Mary, his dead wife. Queen Eleanor tells me he did not get over her easily.”
“In time, Rebecca. In time, he will love you, too. Stephen cannot help but love you.” He pulled her close and held her until the trembling in her body ceased.
* * * *
She did not know she would be so happy to get home, but Rebecca's heart lightened even though she worried about Stephen as she went about the wide halls making sure every room was straightened and fresh for him. She saw to the baking of fresh loaves of bread should he be hungry and, too, she loved the smell lingering in the rooms from the baking.
The weather had been unusually harsh with heavier snows than she remembered. Banks of the heavy whiteness lay between her and the stables. She couldn't reach Tor to talk to him and pass along part of her fruit left from her meals.
She tried not to think of where Stephen might be, whether he was blinded by the windblown snow and could not see the road to travel. More than one traveler had been lost on the narrow roads between Salisbury and Glastonbury. More than once, she smiled to herself. She was the same as any ordinary wife, worrying over her husband.
There was another reason, a very important one, to have Stephen home again. There was something she had to tell him.
She stood by the open window breathing in the icy air blowing in from the water. Excitement stirred within her as she thought of her own news.
Soon, she would bear Stephen's son.
She heard the shouting and stomping near the back hallway and hastened down the stairs. Malvina met her and together, they held the door open as Stephen stumbled in. Aubin had gone forth to meet the travelers, and he came in with Stephen, snow blowing in behind them. Others in the party went on to put the horses to stable and to bed down there.
They shed garments in the hall and only then could Rebecca see Stephen's face. His beard was frosted with ice and snow, as were the thick brows over red-rimmed eyes.
“Oh, Stephen, you're frozen.”
He placed his cold mouth over hers and whispered, “Ah, but you can warm me, my dear.”
She felt the blush suffuse her body, but she clung to him, feeling his big hands close around her. She laughed, holding onto him.
“The great room is warm from baking and there is hot bread and honey. You and Aubin must eat. The others will dine at home?”
�
�Aye.” He grumbled. “Truth, a woman can say no in many languages. But.” He turned his head to smile at her. “But, my lady, it will do thee no good. You are mine. And soon.”
“Yes, m'lord,” she said and curtsied.
* * * *
They lay tangled in each other's arms even though it was still light outside. Rebecca felt warmly sinful, being in bed with her husband before the candles were extinguished for the night.
Stephen, satisfied, held her close, smiling as he remembered her unbridled response. He loved the wild, bold Rebecca whose body absorbed his needs. Even so, he felt the gentle, endearing softness of her.
“My husband?”
“Rebecca.” Such sweet formality. She is so young, he was thinking. A mere child.
Tell me you love me, Rebecca begged silently, but he did not speak again. A small hand crept upward to lie on his throat, stroking the roughness there.
“I am with child.”
She felt the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed, but it seemed a long time before he spoke.
“Are you well?”
“Yes, Stephen.”
He pulled his arm from beneath her head and pushed her away. “You should have spoken sooner.”
“But ... why?”
Bewildered, she saw him withdraw from her. She had thought he would be pleased to be expecting a son to carry on his name. They had been married two years. It was time for a child.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her.
“I might have hurt you.”
She laughed, relieved that was all.
“Oh, my lord, of course you would not hurt me.”
His back remained stiff as he replied, “I might. All women cannot abide men when—at this time.”
His own father had told him this, justifying the many times he found a lady friend to care for his needs during the months preceding the births of four children, none of whom lived past infancy, save Stephen.
“Woman cannot tolerate a man's touch of their bodies when they carry a child. Remember, that, son,” the elder Lambert said. “It seems they do not want an intruder inside to disturb the baby. It is best to seek a more willing substitute until such time as you can return to your own bed.”