Philippa (38 page)

Lucy came back a few moments afterwards, and fetching the brass basin from the warm ashes of the fire helped her mistress bathe, and then don a clean night chemise. The tiring woman tucked the countess of Witton into her bed, and bidding her good night, left her. Philippa was quickly asleep, but she did awaken briefly once in the night to feel her husband’s comfortable bulk against her back. It was, she decided before she fell back asleep, a very good sensation.

T
heir brief time at Brierewode was a revelation to Philippa. Her mother’s lands were vast in comparison with her husband’s, even with the addition of the Melville properties that she had brought Crispin as part of her dowry. Brierewode was far more civilized as well. Where Friarsgate had huge meadows and fields, Brierewode’s small fields were neatly tilled and planted. The meadows where the earl’s cattle grazed were enclosed by low hedges as a means of keeping the beasts from roaming. This new enclosure of pastures was raising a number of eyebrows, and in some cases causing outright disagreements between landowners, but the earl seemed to have no difficulty with any of his neighbors over it.

And the area was far more civilized than she had anticipated a country estate would be. Philippa was pleased. Any time she had to spend at Brierewode would not be dull. They had near neighbors, Crispin told her. It would be a fine place to raise the children that they would have. And there was the difficulty, for Philippa could find no way to explain to Crispin that her service to Queen Katherine came before all else in her life. The Merediths had a history of service to the Tudors. It was just that simple.

To her surprise Philippa had found a letter from her mother awaiting her at Brierewode. In it her mother included a recipe for preventing conception should she wish it. Enclosed had been a packet of wild carrot seeds, the brew’s main ingredient.

“I don’t know if the priest here would approve what you’re doing,” Lucy fretted. “It’s your duty to give the earl an heir, my lady, and I know I’m bold to say it, but it is!”

“Mama takes the brew,” Philippa said.

“Your mama has done her duty by both your da and the laird,” Lucy shot back.

“It’s only until we get back from France,” Philippa replied.

“Oh, you plan on giving up the Christmas revels, and your position at court?” Lucy inquired innocently.

Philippa’s eyes narrowed. “Are you unhappy in my service, Lucy?” she asked sweetly. “Would you like to return to the wilds of Cumbria perhaps?”

But Lucy had served her mistress long enough to know the threat was an idle one, and so she countered, “You would ask me to endanger my immortal soul, my lady?”

Philippa stamped her foot. “If my mother sent this to me, then she wants me to use it. Would you question the lady of Friarsgate? Annie would never question mama.”

“Well, I ain’t my sister!” Lucy said. Then she sighed. “Alright then, until we get back from France, my lady. You’re fortunate he ain’t got you with child by now. He’s a vigorous husband, I can see.”

Philippa blushed. “How can you see?” she demanded.

“You sleep side by side, and I’m the one that straightens your bed every morning,” Lucy replied with a grin. “Those bedclothes are well rumpled more nights than not.”

“Your eyes are too sharp, and your nose too long,” Philippa answered sharply.

“I’ll make the brew for you,” Lucy promised. “You won’t need it, however, until your monthly courses are run now, my lady. That’s what the letter says.”

“Sometimes I regret ever teaching you to read,” Philippa muttered. Then she added, “And not a word to my husband, or anyone else. Agreed?”

Lucy nodded. “If the earl knew, he’d pack me off to Cumbria himself,” she said. “I like the south even as you do, my lady. If I went home they’d marry me off to some farmer’s son, and I’d live in the north forever. Like I said, I ain’t my sister, and content to look after a man and her bairns. Ever since that first trip we took together to Edinburgh when you was just a little girl I’ve had an itchy foot like you.”

“But when I have children, Lucy, we will be stuck here at Brierewode,” Philippa said wickedly, but Lucy was not in the least disquieted by her mistress’s words.

“Now, my lady, you and I both know that once you have given the earl an heir or two you will cajole him into letting you go right back to court. So go to France, come home and do your duty, and all will be well,” Lucy said sensibly.

Philippa nodded. “Did you know that Uncle Thomas has hired us a ship to go to France? We’ll sail with the royal fleet, and the queen has asked me to take along several of her maids of honor. And we will have our own pavilion and not have to beg for sleeping space.”

“Well, at least we’ll be comfortable in that foreign place,” Lucy said dubiously. “I ain’t never been in a sailing ship, my lady. Will we be out of sight of the land?”

“I don’t know,” Philippa said. “I’ve never been to France myself.”

“Well, I suppose if Annie, my sister, can cross the water in a sailing ship I can too,” Lucy finally decided. “I ain’t going to like it, but I’ll do it.”

Philippa rode across her husband’s estates, and found herself relaxing with each passing day. It had been a long time since she had been away from the court. Crispin was diligent in his duties to both his lands and his wife. Philippa had to admit that she enjoyed the time spent in his arms. She had never really considered what this side of marriage would be like, but she was learning that she liked it. She liked it very much. She was almost sorry to realize their time at Brierewode was coming to an end, but they had to get to Dover to join the court.

The queen’s nephew, who was both king of Spain and the new Holy Roman Emperor, would be coming just before they departed for France. Those of the court invited on the summer progress to France would be expected to be at Dover in time to greet Charles V. The emperor was just twenty, the son of Queen Katherine’s deceased sister, and he had never met his aunt. He and the French king did not get on at all, for Francois, like Henry, had hoped to be elected Holy Roman Emperor. The honor, however, had gone to Charles of Spain.

They departed Brierewode on a rainy May morning. Philippa was more rested than she had been in years, and she was very excited. “We shall see you in the late autumn,” she told Mistress Marian, her housekeeper, “before we return to court for the Christmas revels. I know Brierewode is safe in your capable hands.”

The housekeeper nodded and smiled. It was difficult to be annoyed with Philippa. She was charming and mannerly. But all this traveling about! When was the lady going to remain home and do what was expected of her? “God speed you, my lady, my lord,” she murmured politely.

They traveled directly down to London, stopping at Bolton House where Lucy, who had gone before them, was waiting with Philippa’s trunks packed and ready.

“Wait until you see the gowns Lord Cambridge had made for you,” she whispered excitedly to her mistress. “And suits for his lordship as well. I’ve packed them in a separate trunk. And I’ve taken your jewels from the secret place. ’Tis going to be such a grand event. Everyone is talking about it. Supper will be simple, for it’s me doing the cooking. Everyone else has gone with his lordship back to Otterly, and the extras were paid and sent on their way.”

“Serve the supper then in our apartments,” Philippa said to her tiring woman. Then she sighed. “I suppose with none to haul water I can have no bath. I’m already filthy with our travel.”

“I can do a little tub in the kitchens, my lady,” Lucy said.

“And Peter and I will carry the water from the kitchen well,” the earl said, coming upon them and hearing his wife’s conversation.

“Oh, thank you, my lord!” Lucy dimpled.

Crispin St. Claire slid an arm about his new wife. “I shall remain to scrub your back, madame,” he told her with a leer.

“And I will scrub yours, for you shall share the water with me, my lord,” she replied. “We have been wed long enough for me to recognize that look in your eye, and I’ll not lie with a man stinking of horses and the road.”

“How fastidious you are, madame,” he teased her. “I have never known such a woman for bathing, but I will admit you smell better than any woman I have ever known.” He kissed the top of her head. “We may not be so fortunate in France.”

“Wherever I am, Crispin, I will have my bath,” she told him. “I know how many of my companions use scent to cover up their stink, but my nose is sharp. When we first were introduced I knew you bathed more than twice a year with water and soap.”

He grinned. “I’ll begin fetching the water,” he told her, letting her go. “Peter!”

Lucy directed them to fill two large cauldrons which she then swung over the fire. “It will be a while before the water is hot enough for you,” she said.

“Then let us eat here,” Philippa decided. “It will save you the trouble of bringing it upstairs to us. We’ll eat now before we bathe. What of the men-at-arms and the coachman? They must be fed too.”

“ ’Tis done. Peter and I took their meal out to the stables just a while ago,” Lucy responded. “We’re all eating the same tonight. Venison stew. I made two pots with what was left in the larder. Arranged it with his lordship’s cook before we went to Oxfordshire at the beginning of the month.” She bustled about, putting pewter plates and mugs upon the big kitchen table. She pulled a large loaf of bread from the warming oven and put it, with a board, a knife, and a crock of sweet butter, on the table. Then looking to the earl’s manservant she snapped, “Peter! Get that jug of cider from the larder, and fill the goblets.” Taking up a small cauldron she ladled stew into the two dishes. It was rich with a winy gravy that embraced the chunks of venison, the leeks, and the carrots in it.

“Sit down, sit down,” the earl invited the two servants. “There’s no sense in you waiting. The food will get cold, and cold venison stew is not pleasant to eat.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Peter said as Lucy added two more plates and mugs to the far end of the table, and filled the plates with stew.

They ate, and Philippa could hear the water for their baths beginning to boil up in their cauldrons. She mopped the remaining gravy from her plate and waited patiently for the others to finish. When they had, Peter stood up.

“I’ll fill the tub for you, my lady,” he told her.

“And I’ll make certain the temperature is just right,” Lucy said as she gathered up the plates and mugs and took them to the stone sink to be washed. “My lord, if you do not mind, a bucket of cool water from the well would be appreciated. Peter, when you’ve got the water in the tub, go to the stables and get the stew pot back from the men.”

Finally all was ready for the bath. Peter had gone, returned, and gone again to the stables where he would keep company with the men-at-arms. Philippa was in her little tub, pleased she was able to wash. It was unlikely she would be able to do so again until they reached France. The earl had sent Lucy away, and now sat watching his wife as she bathed. Philippa had a beautiful young body, and it gave him pleasure just to look at it.

“Ply your brush, my lord,” she suddenly spoke, breaking into his train of thought. “Did you not say you would scrub my back?”

Kneeling next to the tub, he picked up the brush, soaped it, and began to scour her back. “I am sorry this little oak tub is not big enough for us both,” he murmured in her ear, kissing the little curl of flesh. “I like it when we bathe together, Philippa.”

She giggled. “When you bathe with me, Crispin, we seem to become entangled in each other,” Philippa teased him.

“I am going to make love to you tonight,” he said low.

“We must make an early start,” she protested.

“And when will I have the time again once we get to Dover?” he asked her. “And I know how you feel about passion in a public inn.”

“I shall have Lucy bring us an extra pitcher of water tonight,” she said softly. “Now stop, Crispin, or you will have all the skin off of my back.”

He gently laved water over her, rinsing away the heavy lather he had built up. Philippa stood up, and the droplets from her tub sluiced down her lithe body. Reaching out, she wrapped herself in one of the two large towels Lucy had placed on a drying rack by the fire. She stepped from the tub, and his arms wrapped themselves about her.

“Crispin,” she murmured warningly, seeing the bulge between his thighs.

“I don’t choose to wait, little one,” he told her, pulling his shirt off and loosening his other garments. He backed her with his body to the large table where they had just eaten, his hands imprisoning her heart-shaped face between them, kissing her hungrily.

“Crispin!” she protested again. “Lucy and Peter!”

“Peter dices with the men-at-arms, and will sleep in the stables. Lucy is above stairs, and will not return unless called,” the earl told his wife. His manhood was freed now from its constraints, and it was ready to play. He pushed her down, and her legs came up to fasten themselves about his waist. He drove into her in a single smooth motion as her arms went about him, and she sighed. “Ah, countess,” he told her, “you consume me, I fear. No woman has ever entranced me as do you, Philippa.”

She sighed again. “Then it is fortunate I am your wife, Crispin,” she told him. Sweet Mother of God, how he filled her. His bare skin crushing her breasts was almost hot. Her nipples had tightened into hard points, and she arched herself into him. She loved the possession he took of her. It thrilled and overwhelmed her. Philippa’s head fell back, and his mouth began almost at once to press wet, hot kisses on her vulnerable throat. His tongue lapped from the pulse at the base of her neck up beneath her chin. She unlocked her grip about his neck, her hands smoothing down his long back, scoring him with her nails, lightly at first, and then with more vigor as her own ardor increased.

He felt her nails digging into his flesh. Reaching back, he took her hands and pulled her arms over her head, pinioning them there. “Would you mark me, little one?” he growled in her ear, and then his tongue teased the delicate flesh. His hips did all the work now, thrusting forwards and backwards, driving himself deep into her, enjoying the little mewling cries that had begun to issue forth from her throat. He could feel the very faint trembling beginning from within her, but he wasn’t ready yet. He drew back slowly, and held himself still.