Philippa (34 page)

God’s nightshirt, the earl silently swore to himself, she was very tight. And his finger quickly found her maidenhead. It was fully intact, proving her innocence. He moved the finger within her, and suddenly aware, Philippa cried out.

“No!”

“Aye, little one, ’tis time,” he said, and he mounted her quickly, pulling her resistant thighs apart and positioning himself for the attack. He had been ready almost from the moment he had entered their bedchamber. He was hard as rock, and he could feel his member throbbing with its eagerness to do battle. He began to move forward.

“No!” Philippa cried again. “No!”

He gently restrained her as his manhood pushed past her nether lips and into the entry of her love sheath. Despite her protests she was very wet with her budding desire. Slowly, slowly. His knob pushed into her, the ring of intimate flesh closing tightly about him as he moved his length forward, pressing deeper and deeper until he was met by the barrier of her maidenhood. He stopped.

“I cannot bear it,” she sobbed. “You are too big. You will tear me asunder!”

There was nothing he could say, he knew, that would soothe her. He must take her virginity quickly. He thrust hard, and the tiny shield of flesh gave way before him.

Philippa shrieked, more with surprise than pain. His manhood filled her full. She had never imagined such a feeling. He was moving in her now, his mumbled words attempting to soothe her, his own passions rising to obscure his reason. Suddenly she relaxed, and gave herself over to his desire. She didn’t know what had prompted her to let go of control over herself, but she did. And when she did, her eyes closing, her entire being was suffused with a pleasure such as she had never known. His grip on her had loosened, and unable to help herself she began to caress the big lanky body laboring over her.

“Wrap your legs about me, little one!” He grated out the order in harsh tones.

Philippa obeyed, and felt him driving deeper into her body. She cried out softly with surprise. “Ohhh, Crispin!” she sighed, and she wondered what in the name of all the saints had she ever been fearful of? This was heaven on earth! This was divine! And this was how children were created? She sighed again, and then felt a shuddering beginning from deep within her. It rose up, enveloping her fiercely, and she cried out in fear at this new sensation, but then the warmth swept over her. She felt a rush of hot fluid filling her love sheath, and the earl gave a great groan that was half pleasure and half relief. Then he rolled away from her, but as he did he pulled her into his embrace, kissing her face, her lips, her eyes.

“Little one, little one,” he finally managed to say to her. “I thank you for the gift of your innocence, and the pleasure that you gave me. I can only hope I gave you some pleasure as well, though I think I did.”

“I forgot to pray, my lord,” Philippa said. “I could think of nothing, it seems, when you were making love to me. I think I will not ever tell the queen of my lapse.”

The earl of Witton burst out laughing. “Madame, I forbid you to ever pray while I labor over you. Passion is for pleasure, not piety. God help the poor queen who has never known that.”

“You hurt me in the beginning,” she said.

“The breaking of the maidenhead is said to hurt, I am told,” he replied. “Did no one tell you that? But then they would not have, for fear of frightening you.”

“But after, it was wonderful. I seemed to be on another plane. I flew, my lord, I will vow that I flew!” she said. “How often will we couple like that?”

“Whenever desire overtakes us, little one,” he promised her, “but for now I would have us sleep. Tomorrow we start for Brierewode, and in a few weeks we must depart for France. I want you to see your new home before we do. It has been a long day, Philippa. You must rest now. I will be by your side to keep you safe. I do not believe in the nonsense some practice of a husband and wife sleeping in different chambers, and only coming together for the pleasure. From this night on I shall sleep by your side.”

“I am glad,” she told him. “My parents always shared a bed, and mama and my stepfather do as well. I am not unhappy with your decision, my lord.”

She drew the down coverlet up to cover them both. There seemed no point to getting out of bed to fetch their chemises. She tucked the coverlet about his shoulders, and he was charmed by this sweet sign of her nurturing nature. He was beginning to suspect that he had made a good bargain with Lord Cambridge, and he also suspected that Thomas Bolton had known it. He drew Philippa closer, and she laid her auburn head on his shoulder. They slept.

In the early dawn the earl of Witton awoke. His bride was still cuddled next to him. He studied her carefully, realizing that she was quite a pretty creature. Her skin was very fair, and her auburn hair had golden lights in it, unlike her sister Banon, whose tresses were a deeper auburn in color. Just looking at her aroused him, and he was surprised by it, but then of course she was a new sensation for him. Nay, that was not it. He had never been so roused by any woman. He ran a gentle hand down the curve of her body as she lay on her side by him.

Philippa opened her eyes, startled, and then she remembered where she was. Her eyes met his, and she blushed at the intimacy that surrounded them. She was not used to it, but she supposed in time she would be. She gave him a small smile. He said nothing, pushing her onto her back and mounting her. For some reason it seemed right, and she was to her surprise eager for them to couple again. She slid her arms about him, drawing him down into an embrace as he pushed himself slowly into her eager body. “Ahh, that is good,” she told him softly.

“Tell me what it feels like when I am inside of you,” he said low.

“It is difficult to explain,” she began. “I find I already enjoy the feel of you as you enter my love channel. You fill me, and I feel myself wanting to draw you in further. I want to enclose my flesh about your manhood. I never want to let it go. I lose my identity as we become one, my lord.”

“I feel powerful when our bodies are joined,” he admitted to her. “I am the aggressor, and yet somehow you control me, Philippa. Ah, little one, to be inside you I find unbearably sweet,” he said. And then he began to kiss her mouth.

He kissed her until Philippa’s head was spinning. The sensation of his lips on her, his manhood inside her, was almost too incredible to bear. He filled her and his member throbbed, beating against the walls of her love channel until she was moaning with her eagerness to be totally possessed. “Do it!” she begged him. “Do it, and do not stop!”

He moved slowly within her, increasing his tempo and rhythm until Philippa’s head was thrashing wildly on the pillows. The sight of her desire for him was almost unbearable. He thrust harder and deeper until she began to scream softly with her pleasure.

Philippa wrapped her legs about him, allowing him deeper access. It was incredible, and she now understood her mother better, she thought, than she ever had before. Her head was spinning, and yet she still managed some control over herself as the pleasure began to burgeon and grow until she knew she was going to die, and she didn’t care. Only the desire counted for anything. Her body began to shake from the inside out. She was dying! “Crispin!” she cried his name. “Crispin!” And then her consciousness was sucked down into a whirling dark vortex of heated pleasures.

He heard her crying his name as she clung to him, but he could only concentrate on the emotions battering him. He could feel himself swelling and growing within her until it was almost unbearable and painful. But then suddenly his member released its hot tribute in spurt after spurt after spurt of his love juices. For a moment he thought that his juices would never stop coming. Would his young bride always have this wickedly lustful effect upon him? God’s boots, he hoped so, even if in the end it killed him!

They slept again, this time exhausted, sprawled upon the bed, their limbs intertwined, leg with leg. And when they finally awoke the sun was just coming up. Outside in the gardens the birds were singing a May song.

Philippa had awakened first this time. She extricated herself carefully from the tangle of their limbs, her eyes studying her husband, blushing at the memories of their recent passion. He had such a strong and vibrant body. Her gaze went to his manhood, and she was amazed to find it limp, and surprisingly small now considering its earlier state.

“You have only worn it out for now, but it will recover,” she heard him say. His eyes remained closed, however.

“Oh!” She blushed at being caught in her perusal. “I have never seen a man’s body until now,” she weakly explained to him.

He chuckled, and now the gray eyes slowly opened. “I hope it is all that you expected,” he said.

“I didn’t know quite what to expect, my lord, but I cannot say that I am disappointed in what I have found,” Philippa told him.

“Another night I will teach you to fondle it, for it enjoys the touch of a woman’s hand, little one, but for now we must arise, although I am tempted to stay abed when I see those adorable little breasts of yours so prettily displayed.”

She drew the coverlet up to cover herself, mischievously sticking her tongue out at him. “I have removed the temptation, my lord,” she told him.

He grinned. “Only my desire to take you to Brierewode before we leave for France prevents me from spending the day here in bed with you, madame,” he explained. “You have proven a most satisfactory armful, Philippa, my lady countess of Witton.”

“And you, my lord, have allayed all of my fears of the marriage bed,” she replied. She slipped from the bed and, finding her chemise, drew it on. Then opening the door to the dayroom she called, “Lucy! His lordship and I will have a bath now.”

Lucy jumped from the chair where she had been sitting awaiting her mistress’s call. She had not dared to enter the bridal chamber this morning. “At once, my lady. Where shall I have them set it up? Out here?”

“Aye, ’tis best. Is the fire hot?” Philippa asked her serving woman.

“Aye, ’tis blazing and very warm,” Lucy replied.

Philippa turned back into the bedchamber. “We shall bathe this morning, for we shall not have the opportunity along the road. Here is something you must learn about me. Unlike so many at court I bathe regularly, and not just once or twice a year. I should like you to bathe with me this morning, my lord.”

“ ’Tis not a habit I find distasteful, madame,” he answered her. “I will be pleased to share your bath.”

“I shared with Banon yesterday, but usually I bathe alone,” Philippa explained. “Please be as modest as you can before my tiring woman, my lord.”

It took some time, but the tub was eventually ready for them. Lucy waited in the dayroom for her mistress and her new master. She had already asked the earl’s valet to lay out fresh clothing for his master in the little chamber next to the bedchamber where Philippa had once slept as a girl. The man moved briskly through the dayroom as the newlyweds washed each other in the large tub. Lucy busied herself in the bedchamber, taking the sheet with the bloodied evidence of her mistress’s virtue off the bed, and setting it aside for Lord Cambridge’s view. Then she laid out clothing for Philippa. The trunks were already packed, although Philippa would leave all of her court clothing in London where it . would be ready when they returned on their way to Dover. Lucy smiled as she heard Philippa giggle, and the earl’s guffaw of laughter. The wedding night had obviously gone well, and she was glad for her mistress’s sake that it had.

“How long will it take us to reach Brierewode?” Philippa asked the earl as they bathed in their tub by the fire.

“Several days. Lord Cambridge and I arranged the trip together. We will go by barge to Henley and then ride cross-country to Cholsey where we will take the river as far as Oxford. From there we will ride. It is probably quicker to ride all the way, but I wanted us to have time alone, little one. I hope you are not unhappy with my plans.”

“It sounds most romantic, my lord,” she told him. “I have never been up the river so far. And it is May. Everything will be coming into bloom.”

Finished bathing, they each joined their servants and dressed. Philippa’s gown of deep blue light velvet had a filled-in neckline with a little wing collar of linen. The sleeves were fitted from shoulder to elbow and had a ruffled linen cuff. The skirt was of one piece with a cord and chain belt from which hung a pomander case. It was the perfect traveling gown, and she would wear it each day. The earl wore a deep blue coat which was pleated from a high yoke and had a velvet collar and lining. It hung to his ankles. His shoes were embroidered.

Descending to the hall they ate a hearty meal of oat stirabout, sharing a bread trencher from which they dipped the cereal. There was ham, hard-boiled eggs, butter, cheese, and Philippa’s favorite cherry jam for the cottage loaf. Remembering Lucy’s warning of yesterday about morning ale and the bloat, Philippa drank watered wine as she had when she was a child. When they had finished eating they prepared to embark on the river.

“His lordship’s man and I will meet you and the earl at the inn where you will be spending the night,” Lucy said.

“You aren’t coming with us?” Philippa was surprised.

“No room for a tiring woman and a middle-aged valet on a honeymoon voyage,” Lucy chuckled. “There’s a basket of food for your midday repast, and the oarsmen have food as well. You’ll be fine, my lady.”

“Come along, little one,” the earl called to his bride, and he took Philippa’s hand in his to lead her from the house and down through the garden to the riverside stairs, down to the quay where their barge awaited them.

It was a fair day, a perfect first of May.

“They will already be dancing at court,” Philippa noted with a smile.

“Are you sorry not to be there?” he asked her.

“I should like to be there,” she admitted, “but only if we might be together, Crispin.”