BindingPassion (7 page)

She had a sudden vision of her mother, dressed in a
gold-embroidered gown for entertaining noble friends, the chain hung around her
neck. Mary herself must have been small at the time, for she saw herself
looking up at her mother, thinking she looked as grand and beautiful as any
queen or princess in a tale.

“The dagger was your mother’s as well?”

“Aye, it was a gift to her from my father. His grandfather
had brought it back from the Holy Land where he’d gone on Crusade. I recall my
father saying it was forged by Saracens and taken in battle from one of their
great leaders.” Her mother had worn it in a specially made leather scabbard
that hung from her girdle, most often when she was away from the manor. It was
one of the most beautiful things Lady Anne had owned. Though she hadn’t been
allowed to touch it when she was a child, Mary had always been fascinated by
it.

Mary stared at it now, still fascinated by its glitter and grace.
The blade was forged of polished Saracen steel with a silver hilt, elaborately
scrolled and chased. In the center of the hilt was set a large, polished green
gemstone that glinted like an eye into another world. She moved her hand over
the side of it and understood why her mother had forbidden her young daughter
to touch it. Both edges were honed to razor sharpness and the blade ended in a
wicked point. The combination of beauty and deadliness had a fascinating
intrigue to it.

In addition to the necklace and dagger, the box held a
silver ring, and a tiara forged from several strands of silver chain woven into
a mesh and set with gleaming pearls. She caressed the pearls, relishing the
smooth slide of their round surface against her fingertips. Her eyes burned as
tears filled them, then spilled over to run down her cheeks.

“Mary!” Philip’s voice held sharp concern.

“Forgive me,” she said, brushing her sleeve across her eyes
to stop the flow of tears. “I thought never to see these again, and each one
brings with it a remembrance of my lady mother.”

“She died when Sir William took the keep from your father?”
Philip asked.

“Nay. She contracted a wasting illness some years before
that. I believe I was four or five and ten when she went home to the Lord. It
was a mercy by then. She could eat naught and was in constant pain, though she
bore those trials with strength and courage.”

“I grieve for your loss. She could not have been old.”

“Nay. And she was so beautiful, remained that way until the
last of her illness.”

“And she remains that way still in your mind.” Philip picked
up the box and held it out to her. “She would have wanted you to have these.”

Mary brushed away more tears and met Philip’s eyes over the
top of the box. The concern in the blue depths warmed her soul. “Thank you, my
lord. You cannot know what this means to me.”

“Perhaps not, but your smile is reward enough.” When she’d
taken the box, he picked up the dagger and weighed it in his hand, testing its
balance, tried the grip for both stabbing and throwing, ran a finger down the
blade, then used it to slice a corner of the parchment diagram of the manor.
“Take care with this,” he advised. “Its edges are honed fine. A worthy weapon.”
He set it back in the box.

“I have the scabbard still.”

He nodded and reached for the tiara. After holding it up to
the light and admiring the glitter of the silver, he let the web of fine chains
spill through his fingers, winding around one and puddling in his palm. “Would
you wear this for me at dinner this even?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord. I will.” She held the box tight against her
breast as she fled the room. The tears started again as she left the room,
flowing down her cheeks in a cascade she couldn’t control.

An hour or so later, Mary finally had her emotions in check
enough to get back to work. Harvest time meant a great deal of work in the
kitchen, preserving soft fruits and vegetables, sorting the hard ones to store
in the cellars, smoking meat of animals culled from the herd as unlikely to
survive the winter, and putting herbs to dry. Mary had many happy memories of
working alongside her mother as she helped with those tasks in the kitchen.

Some of those surfaced as she helped chop fruit and then
took her turn stirring the pot of boiling pulp. Though it fatigued her arm, it
was still her favorite part of the process. She savored the rich color of the
preserves and the fragrant aroma released as she ran the wooden spoon through
the viscous mass. A memory of dipping her finger into a cooling pot when she
was a child came back to her. She thought she’d gotten away with the snitch but
her mother had spotted the red stain around her mouth. She’d only smiled
indulgently, however.

Mary had a sudden, unexpected vision of herself smearing
some of the mixture onto Philip’s lips with her finger and then licking and
sucking it off. It would taste all the sweeter mixed with his own unique savor.
She must have made some sound because one of the girls broke her reverie by
asking, “My lady? Are you well? Did you burn yourself?”

“Nay, ‘tis nothing.”

From then on, she tried to keep her mind on the work.
Occasionally she heard giggles from the girls working at the table behind her.
She mostly ignored it until one of them drew her into their conversation.

“He is, though, isn’t he, Lady Mary?” Riscia asked.

“Is what?” she answered. “And who is ‘he’? I’m sorry, I
wasn’t following your conversation.”

“Lord Philip,” Riscia said. “Is he not the most handsome
knight ever?”

“‘Ever’ would be a very long time and there are many lands
in the world beyond this, our home,” she answered. “I could not say if he were
the most handsome knight ever. He is the most handsome I’ve ever seen,
however,” she admitted.

“Ah. I told you as much,” Riscia said to her companions. “He
could be Lancelot in those tales of King Arthur, or even King Arthur himself.”

* * * * *

Later Mary washed herself carefully and had Isabel take more
than usual pains in arranging her hair under the net. The girl gasped with
shock and pleasure when she saw the tiara. “It’s beautiful, my lady,” she said.
“Never have I seen this before.”

“It was my mother’s. Lord Philip found it hidden in the
master’s solar and returned it to me.”

Isabel dropped it into place and arranged the strands so
that the pointed part of the mesh web fell forward onto her forehead. “Oh my,
oh my,” the girl said on long breaths. “You look like a queen, my lady.”

Mary regarded herself in the mirror and was surprised at how
regal she appeared.

The maid helped her into her gown. “You must ask my lord for
fabric for some new gowns,” the girl said, sighing over a worn patch on the
sleeve. “Most of these gowns were your mother’s as well, were they not?”

Mary nodded.

“You have urgent need of some new things.”

“Not so urgent,” Mary answered. “Clothes are less important
than restoring the estate and repairing the manor. Once that is accomplished,
I’ll consider a few new gowns.”

She deliberately delayed going into the hall after the
dinner gong had sounded. Mary didn’t ordinarily enjoy drawing attention to
herself by arriving late, but on this evening she wanted all to see her decked
in her mother’s tiara.

A flurry of gasps, followed by a moment of stunned silence
greeted her arrival. Philip stood up as she approached and the other men at the
head table followed his example.

“Lady Mary, you look quite ravishing tonight,” he said, as
he helped her into her seat.

Her heart did a funny little flip-flop inside her chest.

The meal was a long and merry one, with jests and laughter.
Mary was very conscious of Philip at her side, especially when he passed a dish
her way or leaned over to make a quiet comment intended for her ears alone.
After they finished eating, the minstrels who’d performed at the feast the
previous night again entertained them. They’d be departing in the morning but
Philip had evidently settled with them already, and much to their satisfaction,
for they made several comments on the lord’s generosity.

Mary blushed when, on several occasions they complimented
her for her looks and her ability as chatelaine as well. They sang a number of
favorite ballads, a few love songs, and a couple of more humorous, bawdy
ditties. The servants responsible for the food crept into the hall to join in
the fun as they finished with their duties.

Beneath the trestle table, Philip reached out and clasped
her hand. His palm was warm and strong as it cradled hers. Part of his arm
rested across her thigh. Even through several layers of cloth, the heat from it
penetrated her skin, firing a burning awareness in her.

Many glances directed themselves at the head table, both
from the minstrels and the others gathered in the hall. Mary wondered
occasionally what they saw. Their joined hands were hidden from view, but
perhaps their expressions gave away something. She tried to concentrate on enjoying
the music. At times she succeeded, but each slight movement of Philip’s fingers
or arms would recall her thoughts to him. At one point he tapped the rhythm to
a couple of pieces against her thigh.

When the musicians performed a few popular numbers, they
invited all present to join on the refrain. Raucous participation followed.
Enthusiasm and pleasure saturated the atmosphere in the hall, surrounding all
in a miasma of joy.

Mary couldn’t recall that she’d ever felt happier in her
life. She squeezed Philip’s fingers and turned to look at him. He watched her
with that burning glint of desire in his eyes, but also a surprising tenderness
that seemed to take pleasure in seeing her joy. The evening need never end as
far as she was concerned, but eventually it did anyway.

Folks began to droop and some of the older ones retired to
seek their beds. At a nod from Philip, the minstrels concluded with a tune
wishing them good night and good rest, and thanking them for the welcome and
expansive hospitality. They sang that part with so much emphasis, Mary decided
Philip must have been quite generous, indeed.

When it was done, Philip stood and wished all good night
himself. He escorted Mary from the hall with a hand on her arm and walked her
to her solar. He stopped at the door and turned her to face him. He would have
kissed her, but Isabel came rushing up at that moment, skidding to a halt on
the stone floor of the corridor as she saw the two of them.

“My lord,” she said, breathlessly, and turning to Mary said,
“My lady.” Then she sidled by them, through the door, and pointedly shut it
behind her.

Philip grinned and laid a finger on Mary’s lips. “Others
will be along shortly, too, so I’ll do naught but bid you good night and fair
rest.” In opposition to his words, however, he glanced up the hall, and seeing
no one coming toward them at the moment, leaned over and pressed a quick kiss
on her lips. Then he turned and retraced his steps to his quarters.

While she helped Mary disrobe and prepare for bed, Isabel
chattered at great length about the evening, the entertainment, and most
volubly of all, about Lord Philip. It didn’t take her long to realize Isabel
had developed a crush on her lord, one that seemed to be shared by virtually
every other young woman in the manor.

“He’s so kind,” Isabel gushed. “A couple of days past, he
stopped to help Yvaine gather some pins she’d spilled from a cup. He
complimented Cook and all the kitchen staff on the food at the feast. Oh, and
he’s so handsome, too. Those eyes of his…I could stare at them all the day
long.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Mary said dryly, as Isabel turned
back the bedcovers for her.

“Well, nay, I wouldn’t,” Isabel admitted. “He’s still our
lord. But he is a pleasant change from Sir Benwyck.” At that the girl set a
candle on the nightstand beside the bed and left.

Mary agreed heartily with her last statement and fell asleep
dreaming of the feel of Philip’s finger on her lips and his arm resting on her
thigh.

For the next several days, life dropped into a more normal
rhythm of work and rest. Work began to repair the stone walls of the manor, and
Philip was most often to be found consulting with the laborers or Sir Thomas,
who was supervising the job. At other times, he joined Derwyn in meeting with
the home farm workers and arranging for the supplies and equipment they’d need
for the winter crops as well as for the spring planting.

Several days in a row, he and Mary rode out together, going
around to various homesteads, meeting his vassals and listening to their
concerns. Each day they’d come back so tired they could do no more than bathe,
sup, and retire to bed. Mary came away from those visits impressed with
Philip’s patience in listening to all the gripes and complaints and his
intelligence in the suggestions he made and careful handling of each concern.

Only once did they get any time alone together, during a
stop for lunch beside a quiet stream as they made their way from one cottage to
another some distance away. After they’d eaten, Philip laid her down on a soft
stretch of grass, browned now by a frost a few nights past. He kissed her,
playing his mouth and tongue against her lips so cleverly, she melted under the
caress. When he lifted his head, she threaded her fingers through his curly
black hair and pulled his face back down to her.

After a minute, though, he backed off, resisting her tug.
The weather that day started out cool but grew warmer under the gaze of a
bright sun, so she didn’t get cold when he loosed the tapes on her gown and
pushed it aside far enough to let him reach the tops of her breasts, first with
his hands, then with his lips. His fingers circled the tender skin around the
nipples and pinched lightly at the hardened buds. His tongue flicked, dug, and
rubbed until she was sobbing under the assault of fiercely pleasurable
sensations.

When he sucked a nipple into his mouth and tickled it with
his tongue while maintaining the drawing suction, she squealed in delight as
the heat flooded her being. His hand rested on her thigh and she had a sudden
desperate need for him to move it up and inward, to touch between her legs.

He didn’t, though. Instead he drew back, sighing and
brushing a tender hand across her cheek.

“Mary, did I consult only my own desires, I’d stay here with
you the rest of the day and pleasure your body until you screamed for me. But
other duties call us, and do I not stop now, I cannot vouch for my ability to
halt later.”

She nodded, but she had to force herself to rise, even with
his assistance, and rearrange her clothing. For some time after they’d mounted
and set out on their journey again, the heat continued to bubble through her
veins demanding the fulfillment she’d denied herself.

* * * * *

They’d been at home for several days, though they’d had
little time alone together. Mary was helping the head housekeeper take
inventory of bed linens when a frantic young man came searching for her.

“My lady,” he said, breathless and panting. “There’s been an
accident. Sir Thomas asks that you go to my lord’s quarters forthwith.”

The boy had already turned away, apparently on the next leg
of his mission, when she stopped him. “Lord Philip is injured?” she asked. “How
badly?”

The boy shook his head. “I know not how serious, my lady. I
must go and find Mistress Brianne.”

“Aye,” Mary agreed. “I believe you’ll find her in the
herbarium.”

Shock gave way to a nearly choking fear as she raced along
the corridors and up a flight of stairs to the lord’s quarters. He couldn’t be
seriously injured. Not now that they were so close. He couldn’t be…
Lord,
please, let him not be badly hurt
, she prayed as she ran down the corridor.