“I wasted my money buying those damn pessaries,” he mumbled.
She smiled, snuggling against his huge body. “Nay, you did not. What is this one time out of the rest to come? By the way, how do I use them?”
“You put them inside you– thusly,” he took his index finger and shoved it upward, and then he grinned at her. “In fact, I may do it for you.”
“You may have to,” she made a face of displeasure. “I do not think I want to stick my finger– thusly.” She made the same motion and they both laughed.
They settled into comfortable positions, he holding her tightly, and she pressed up against him as if she were a physical part of his body. It had been so long since they had been together as this, and each one savored it.
The afternoon passed, closing in on dusk. Remington dozed lightly in his arms, never so content as she was at that very moment. Gaston stroked her back absently, staring off into the room, not thinking on anything in particular. He was simply enjoying the feel of her, the smell of her. He was enjoyingher.
“What happened in London?” she asked.
He thought she was asleep. Shifting her slightly, he gazed down into the sea-crystal eyes. “Let’s eat supper first, and then we will discuss it later with de Tormo.”
She sat up. “Why do not you want to tell me now? What happened?”
He sighed. “Remi, we have just spent a wonderful afternoon together. Do you really want to spoil it with talk of the papal council?”
“Am I getting my annulment?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Did they deny me already, before I have a chance to speak?”
“No, they did not deny you. In fact, you and de Tormo and I will have to speak on the future testimonies,” he ran a finger up her soft arm. “I told the archbishop and the legate that Guy worships the devil. They were most outraged, of course, and I believe if we can convince them that Guy is the devil’s disciple, then you shall have your annulment.”
“Truly?” her face lit up with hope.
He smiled faintly and touched her cheek. “Truly.”
She suddenly bound out of bed, hunting for her clothes. “Well, get up. We must eat and meet with de Tormo. And when do we leave for London?”
He snickered, rolling to his side and propping himself up on an elbow as she paraded about, collecting garments. His flaccid manhood began pulsing with life again at the sight of her nude body, nubile and round.
“’Tis a shame you must cover that magnificent body,” he said, eyeing her as she walked past him.
She gave him a coy look, laying her shift and dress across a chair. “I do not think de Tormo would appreciate my showing up to supper in the nude,” she put her hands on her hips. “Do you know that he does not believe in bathing? He told me so. He says it is a danger for men of the cloth to expose parts of the body that should remain covered.”
“I believe it. He reeks something fierce.”
“Well, I think it is disgusting,” she pulled the shift over her head. “Gaston…do you think that ordained men are subject to the same urges as normal men? I mean, do they feel lust and desire as you do?”
“Of course,” he replied, watching her dress with pleasure. “I’d wager that de Tormo’s handprints are all over his manroot.”
She gasped and he laughed. “Oh, Remi, do not look so shocked. He’s a mortal man, no matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise.”
She frowned, the mental picture of an aroused de Tormo disgusting. “How unpleasant.”
Gaston sat up, throwing his massive legs over the side of the bed and scratching his scalp. “I have got to find Antonius and have him cut my hair. It is getting far too long.”
She pulled her surcoat over her head, a clingy bit of pale green satin that molded to her breasts and torso and hung gracefully off her hips. “It looks fine.”
He ran his hand up the back of his head. “Too long,” he repeated, moving for his thin leather breeches that were almost like hose.
She looked closely at his head as she fastened a silver link belt around her hips. The front was long as it usually was, almost hanging to his mouth. The back was shorn, nearly to the top of his skull and she shook her head. “If Antonius cuts your hair any closer to your scalp, you shall be bald.”
He grunted as he pulled on his breeches, giving her a vague shrug. She sat on the bed, pulling on cream-colored hose and he groaned softly, turning away so he would not have to watch as she ran her hands up her legs. She grinned knowingly, pulling on soft leather slippers.
