He cried out even as her head began to spin with lust fulfilled, and her body was racked with deep, strong shudders as his pent-up love juices exploded to fill her. Their short, hard pants of mutual satisfaction burst forth as he rolled off of her and lay by her side. Reaching out, he took her hand and, bringing it to his lips, kissed it.
Young Tom began to complain of his hunger.
Elizabeth struggled from their bed and, going to the cradle, lifted her son out. Coming back to the bed she laid him upon it and changed his nappy. Then, picking him up, she sat down upon the edge of their bed and put her infant to her full breast.
“Will he be satisfied?” Baen asked, feeling just a small modicum of guilt.
“For now, but he’ll waken in a shorter time, I fear,” Elizabeth admitted.
“Find a wet nurse,” Baen said.
“Why? I am capable of feeding him,” Elizabeth protested. “I don’t want him in a village cottage where he could grow ill.”
“Bring the wet nurse here,” Baen replied. “She can live within the house and feed him here. I do not want to futter my wife with my son nearby. Nor do I want to share your beautiful breasts with him, Elizabeth.”
“Not yet, Baen,” Elizabeth said. “By Twelfth Night, I promise.”
“By Michaelmas,” he countered. “I will wait no longer.”
“You said you would not leave me ever again,” she cried, and the infant at her breast protested the timbre of her voice.
“I won’t,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll just beat you for disobeying me,” Baen told her with a wicked smile.
“You wouldn’t!” Elizabeth cried.
Again he smiled. “Do you wish to test my word, wife?”
Elizabeth looked hard at him. He did appear to be quite serious.
“Friarsgate belongs to you, but you, my darling, belong to me. In the eyes of the law, and in the eyes of the church,” he said.
“That is not fair!” Elizabeth said.
“No, it is not, but I will invoke my husbandly privilege if you do not obey me. You do not want me finding a wet nurse and bringing her into the house, do you? Better you ask Maybel’s advice, and share the chore with her. You know I love you, and I love our son, but I will not share my bedchamber longer than necessary with our bairn. Shall I speak to Maybel, or will you? Tomorrow, Elizabeth.”
“I never knew you were a bully, Baen,” she muttered, cradling young Tom against her chest. “I would not have married you had I known.”
“Nor did I know what a little shrew you can be, Elizabeth, my love, but I would have wed you anyway,” Baen responded.
Elizabeth laughed. “Damn me, husband, if we are not well matched, for I say we are. But if we futter so often we could find ourselves with another bairn. Is that what you want, Baen? More children?”
He grinned. “Aye,” he drawled. “But let us make a daughter next, Elizabeth.”
She laughed. “I cannot become enceinte if I am nursing, it is said,” she teased him.
“Michaelmas,” he repeated, and a single big finger reached out to stroke their son’s dark head.
In the morning before her mother departed Elizabeth sought her out. “Tell me the secret you possess to prevent a child too quickly,” she said.
Rosamund smiled. “Ask Nancy, my darling, for I have already given her the recipe. She is shocked, of course, but also curious to see if it will work. It will.”
“Baen wants me to find a wet nurse for young Tom, Mama,” Elizabeth told her mother. “One who will live here in the house.”
Rosamund nodded. “Humor him, but begin your special elixir immediately.”
“I will nurse young Tom until Michaelmas,” Elizabeth said.
“Do not believe that old wives’ tale about nursing woman being infertile,” Rosamund warned her daughter. “It is not necessarily true. I was still nursing you when I became enceinte with your brother who perished.”
