Lone Wolfe

by Barbara Devlin

  In most ceremonies, the first kiss shared between a newlywed husband and wife evinced a mere formality to seal the vows. For Desi and Titus, the searing expression with which they embarked on their new life as a single entity brought a cacophony of hoots and hollers from the audience. But the roar of approval faded amid a tender web of enthusiastic sentiment mixed with an undercurrent of ardent passion impossible to deny, and Desi threw herself into Titus’s unyielding embrace, without care for her safety.

  Soon the wine flowed, and the gathering dined on poached salmon, a savory pourcelet farci, and stewed beef, along with buttered wortes, gourdes in potage, and delicious frytours of erbes. For dessert, the cook thrilled the party with an apple muse, gyngerbrede, and perys en composte.

  As the hour grew late, Grisel and Mabot appeared at one end of the dais.

  “Sir Titus, it is time for Lady Saint-Germain to retire.” Grisel curtseyed. “May we have thy permission to prepare thy bride to receive ye?”

  Now that was the moment that struck terror in Desi’s mind.

  “Of course.” Titus caught Desi’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I shall join ye shortly, my love. And fear naught, as the bedding ceremony is but a rude ritual used to bear further validation of the union.”

  “But I am not afraid.” And if Desi told herself that enough, she just might believe it. “I look forward to thy company, my husband.”

  _________________

  CHAPTER SIX

  Perched high on a chair, and clutching a flagon of Adam’s ale, as he intended to memorize every second of the consummation and wanted naught to impair his senses, Titus rode a wave of unbridled excitement and mirth, as his men carried him to his private chambers. At the double-door ingress, Richart pounded hard and then flung open the oak panels.

  “Hear ye, hear ye! The master arrives to claim his bride.” The steward stormed the solar and marched straight to the second entry, which Grisel and Mabot guarded. As the maids set ajar the inner portal, revealing Desiderata, with her flowing saffron locks draped about her shoulders, tucked in bed with the blankets to her chin, Richart raised his tankard in toast. “Sir Titus, thy wife awaits thy presence.”

  A hearty cheer of approval reverberated on the walls, as the knights lowered Titus to the floor. As was expected of him, he leaped forth, charged the fray, and bounded atop the mattress. Glancing at his wife, he wrapped an arm about her, pulled her close, and pressed a kiss to her lips with a loud smack.

  Another resounding shout of concordance erupted, and the drunken revelers exchanged hearty backslaps.

  “All right, that is quite sufficient.” Grisel stomped and guided everyone to the exit. “Out, everyone. Thou hast witnessed what thou hast come to see, so let us offer the couple a measure of privacy.”

  Soon a solemn hush fell on the room, as Titus found himself alone, at last, with his lady. When a roar of celebration echoed from the great hall, as the festivities would continue into the night, Desi flinched.

  “Thou art nervous.” To delay, he stood and tended the fire. “It is perfectly natural, love.”

  “I know not wherefore I suffer such apprehension, as I have known ye all my life.” Clinging to the covers, she frowned. “Mabot and Grisel just explained what we must do, in order to seal our vows, and it was quite shocking, to say the least. Forgive me, but I am not certain I can manage it, though I would not disobey ye.” Myriad emotions invested her visage, as she inclined her head. “And while I have seen ye without benefit of clothing, we were but children, and I suspect thy body hath changed much since that time.”

  “Thou art correct, my angel.” He chuckled and wondered how to allay her fears and anxiety, along with his own, as her panic had worked on him in a way he could not have foreseen and flattened the particular part of his composition necessary to do the deed. “But I am not ignorant of the female anatomy, and I will please ye.”

  “I beg thy pardon?” With something between a sob and a sigh, her eyes grew wide. “Thou art not a virgin? Thou hast shared with another that which is mine?”

  It was too late when he realized what he just said. Titus gulped, as he knew not how to undo what he just did. “Forgive me, Desi, but it was required of me.”

  “Oh?” In a familiar display of temper, which he had hoped to avoid in married life, she lifted her chin. “How so?”

  “As a man, I am held to different standards with varying expectations.” His mind raced, as he sought escape from the mess he inadvertently created. Yet, for him, with her, he required no falsehood. “When I was but six and ten, my father—well, Roncin paid a whore to teach me the skills to perform the act with a certain level of finesse. Had I disobeyed, the punishment would have been great, and it is doubtful he would have permitted our wedding, as he would have deemed me unfit for ye.”

  “So thou wilt have me believe ye had no choice.” The hurt in her expression well nigh slayed him, especially when her lower lip quivered. “Thither art others in thy past? And thou didst enjoy thy relations?”

  “Aye, and I am ashamed of my behavior, which was naught more than a corrupt exchange, bereft of fellow feelings, for physical release, born of youthful and shallow hunger.” It killed him to admit it, but he would not embark on his marriage with a series of lies. “Which is the reason I have not lain with another for more than two years, as I have matured, and I want none but thee.” Determined to right the conversation, and prove himself worthy of her trust and fidelity, he sought distraction in fond memories. “Dost thou recall the afternoons we passed, swimming in the pond by Craven’s Rock?”

  “Aye, as we took our exercise without benefit of clothing.” With a hint of a smile, Desiderata averted her stare. “I cried for days, after ye refused my request to do the same, when our families gathered to mark my fifteenth year.”

  “Didst thou not wonder wherefore I declined thy petition?” He poured two goblets of wine and offered her a drink. When she nodded, he sighed. “I could not indulge thee, because I could not resist the temptation thou didst present, as I desire thee above all else.”

  “I thought, mayhap, it was because thou didst cut thy foot, on the last occasion.” She scooted close, as he sat at the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. “I presumed ye feared the water.”

  “Nay, it is not that simple.” After unhooking his belt, he drew the strip of leather from his waist. “The truth is we were no longer children, our once unimpeachable pastime had become something far more illicit, and I understood that. My body reacted to the sight of thy creamy flesh, and I could not master my response. So I injured myself to divert ye. As thou didst tear a strip of cloth from thy kirtle, to fashion a bandage, I donned my garb to conceal my embarrassment.”

  “May I show ye something?” Without hesitation, she jumped from the mattress, rummaged through her trunk, located a small wooden box, and brought it to him. It was all Titus could do to ignore the outline of her curvy form and the cleft of her bottom, just visible beneath the sheer fabric of her robe. As she resettled herself, he tried not to fixate on the rose-tipped peaks of her breasts and ignored the overwhelming yearning to flick his tongue to her nipples. The hinges creaked, wrenching him from a sweet musing, as she lifted the lid. “Doth this look familiar?”

  “Thou didst keep it?” To his amazement, in her grasp she held the scrap of material soiled with the dark brown stain of his blood. “Wherefore?”

  “It is but one of many items I collected, as a priceless treasure, in commemoration of our history. And I would part with naught of thine.” From the assortment, she pulled a dried flower. “This is the Mary’s Bitter Sorrow thee didst gift me after ye won thy first tournament in London.” She fished out another trinket. “And this is the small stone ye brought me from the battlefield of thy earliest victory at Hedgeley Moor.” Next, she held up a roll of yellowed parchment. “My most prized memento is the letter thee didst write on the eve of Hexham.”

  “Roncin decided it was time to take me to war.” And how Titus’
s mother argued against it, as he was but six and ten. “Had I died, I wanted ye to know of my right and true love.”

  “Although I was but eleven, I slept with thy missive tucked under my pillow for years afterward, until I lamented I might destroy thy precious declaration in my slumber.” As she sifted through the various tokens, each indicative of another milestone in their relationship, a single tear coursed her cheek. “I saved every correspondence ye hath sent, and I have no recollection of a moment when I didst not love ye, in return.”

  Touched beyond words, Titus realized it was time to bare himself, just as she had exposed herself, and have her accept him. To her countenance of confusion, he separated from her. As had his bride, he dug through his trunk and fetched a similar parcel, though perchance more masculine in its decor. After doffing his clothes, excepting his braies, as he would not startle her, and he benefitted from the restraint, he joined her beneath the sheets.

  “Like ye, I stored priceless articles of thine, and this is my hoard of riches, which travel with me whenever I am dispatched.” As he removed the top of the hand-tooled wooden container, a folded square of lace-edged cotton caught his eye. “Thou didst give me this handkerchief when I came down with a chill and a fever, after stealing across the ledge to thy chamber at Waelmore, amid pouring rain, to comfort ye during a wicked tempest. Thou were but eleven, and thou didst detest storms.” After sifting through a few items, he clutched another remembrance. “And thou didst take from thy own adored locks this ribbon, which I affixed to my armor as I began my service to the Yorks. Never have I gone into a fight without it, as it is my amulet of good fortune.” A particular piece beckoned, and he passed it to her. “This is my most cherished prize. Dost thou recognize it?”

  “Aye.” With a brilliant smile, Desi rotated the figurine. “It is the toy knight I gave ye, in honor of thy twelfth year.” She met is gaze, and what he spied thither stole his breath. “Thou hast kept it, all this time?”

  He nodded. “Like ye, I am unwilling to surrender any part of thee, as naught is too small or insignificant to hold dear, when it is thine.”

  “Titus, how I love ye.” As she licked her lips, she pushed back the covers, untied her robe, and shrugged free of the garment, leaving naught hidden from his scrutiny. “If thou wilt have me, I am thine for the taking.”

  In an instant, his mouth watered. “Lady Saint-Germain, thou art beauteous, and thou dost own my heart.”

  “If thou dost believe it to be so, then I shall not argue with ye, but thy heart I gladly take in fair exchange for mine.” A practiced seraph could not best the temptation she presented, as she reclined on the bed. “I am thine to command, my precious husband. Do with me as ye will.”

  Painfully aroused and bereft of speech, he deposited their troves on the floor, set the goblets on the bedside table, shed his braies, the final but nonetheless potent barrier to the consummation, tugged the pillow from beneath her head, hovered over her for a scarce second, rested his hips to hers, and gave her his weight. The shock in her stare lasted but a brief moment, before she placed her palms to his shoulders.

  “Relax, my angel, as I will not hurt ye.” Summoning the patience of a saint, and determined to show restraint, he seized her mouth and suckled her tongue. As the finest liquor, he savored her intoxicating sweetness against which he possessed no defense, yet he waited for her response. When she shifted and squirmed, and yanked his hair, he deepened the kiss, flexed his spine, thrust, and joined their bodies. A whisper of a gasp heralded her surprise, and she broke free, as he rested his forehead to hers. Despite the overpowering urge to do otherwise, he lingered, relishing another priceless milestone without equal. “It is done, Desi. From this point forward, thither is naught but pleasure. But now and forever, thou art mine.”

  “And thou art my brave Titus.” She framed his face, as he grasped her knee and showed her how to hug him with her legs.

  “Always.” When she adjusted to his intimate invasion, he initiated an exquisite rhythm, languishing in the tight embrace of her untried flesh, and thus the delicate dance commenced. “Till death and beyond, my love.”

  ~

  A sennight anon, lulled by the drumbeat of a gentle rain against the windows, and snuggled beneath the blankets, a naked Desi stretched long beside her equally nude husband and sighed. As had become his habit after a rigorous round of marital games, Titus caressed her bottom. A loud rumble in her belly pierced the sated languor, and he chuckled.

  “Thou art hungry, my lady.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Though it is no surprise, as I rode ye hard this morrow.”

  “Shall I dress and steal to the kitchen, in search of something to satisfy my lesser craving?” Of course, not for a minute did she expect him to let her out of his reach. “I might find a morsel or two to tempt ye.”

  “Naught compares with thy sumptuous flesh, upon which I could feast to the end of my days, but thou should not worry, as our noon meal will arrive shortly, along with hot water for our bath.” With a robust growl, he pulled her into a steely embrace. “Thou shalt remain hither, forever.”

  “My sweet husband, at some point, thou must permit me to venture beyond our private chamber.” She squealed as he shifted, quick as a wink, and rolled her onto her back. “No doubt our people already wonder what hath happened to me and what we do hither. What must they think, given thy raucous approbation, which doth rattle the rooftops?”

  “Darling, I know precisely what they think, and they are correct in their assertion, given we are newly wed and in love. And thou art one to talk, given thy screams of completion, but that is an observation, not a complaint.” Easing between her thighs, he trailed a series of kisses along the curve of her neck. “Ah, thither is naught I enjoy more than making love to my wife, so I may keep ye quite busy in my bed for a fortnight—mayhap a month, as I have yet to gain my fill of thy delectable body.”

  And so the conversation devolved into a heady mix of whispered praise, lusty grunts, and passionate sighs. Reveling in Titus’s desire, Desi heeled his arse, urging him deeper and faster, as she dug her nails into his back. Soaring to the mystical realm, whither the mortal shell yielded to an invisible but formidable connection that defied all efforts to define it, she grasped the prize with a mighty wail of exultation she tried but failed to stifle.

  Approximately twenty minutes anon, they reclined much as they had started, when Grisel hollered from the next room, “Thither is a warm fire, a tray of food, and a ready ancere, Sir Titus.”

  “Thank ye, Grisel,” responded Desi, as she glanced at her oh-so-adorable spouse and giggled. “It appears thou hast tended my needs.” Before he could react, she jumped from the bed and collected their robes. “If thou wilt wash my back, I shall scrub thine.”

  With a slow and sensual smile, he lowered his chin. “My lady, I am, as ever, at thy service.”

  Palpable tension invested the air, as she squared her shoulders. “I know thy sport, my bawdy knight.”

  “Then wherefore dost thou continue to run?” He assumed his usual stance. “Thou dost know I will catch ye.”

  “Mayhap I relish how the pursuit doth effect ye.” She gazed at his man’s yard, which offered a reliable stout salute. “And I shall reap the reward.”

  “Haa.” With a lunge, he signaled the chase, and she flung open the doors to the solar. “I am on thy tail.”

  “Yet thou hast not caught me.” Gaining a measure of sanctuary behind the table, she veered left and then right, based on his movements. “Come, my lord, thou art not trying hard enough.”

  “Trust me, I am hard enough.” Titus waggled his brows. “Perchance we could join forces, to our mutual benefit.” In an instant, he lurched atop the table.

  In response, she skittered behind the screen, which shielded the wash area, and plopped into the ancere with a splash. “I await thy pleasure, my conqueror.”

  “And thy pleasure is my primary business of choice.” With his magnificent weapon at the ready, which no long
er served as a source of consternation, he strutted to the fore. “Prepare to be conquered, though I would argue the opposite, as I am thy servant.”

  Another passage of time spent in the improvement of her husband’s already impressive water skills left Desi exhausted, and she collapsed against his chest, as he rinsed the last of the soap from her hair. “Oh, my love, I shall waste into dust if I do not eat soon.”

  “What am I thinking, given thy dedicated performance of thy wifely duties?” He lifted her from the tub. “Let me dry ye, and we shall enjoy our sup by the hearth.”

  As Titus tended her with a towel, she brushed the tangles from her long locks. After shrugging into the plush robe, she slipped her feet into a pair of soft poulaines and assessed the fare.

  “The sauce is cold.” She lifted the lid on a covered dish. “But the brewets look delicious, and thither is fresh bread. Shall I pour thy favorite ale, or wilt thou share my wine?”

  How their relationship had progressed in such a short span of time, as they were a pair of like-minded individuals. The natural evolution of their love bespoke an undeniable testimony to their unerring mutual devotion with which few, if any, arranged unions were endowed. So wherefore was she not elated?

  “Surprise me.” He emerged from behind the screen, as he belted his garment. “What is it, angel? What troubles ye?”

  “Am I that obvious?” It was to her detriment that he had known her all her life, because never would she be able to keep a secret from him. “Would thou prefer apple or blackberry jam on thy pastries?”

  “Thou dost know I am partial to blackberry, and thou art delaying.” Sitting on the bench, he filled a tankard with ale, took a large gulp, and then pulled her into his lap. “Wherefore dost thou frown, sweetheart?”