Rosamund watched as the two men rode off and then turned and went back into the house where Maybel was awaiting her in the hall.
“I did not think my uncle Henry looked well,” she noted.
Maybel chuckled. “I have just had the gossip from the cook who has a sister at Otterly Court. Madame Mavis has grown a big belly, but it ain’t your uncle’s get. ’Tis said your uncle’s wife has been futtering a brawny young stableman. He caught them at it himself and sent the devilish lad packing. Then Madame Mavis announced to all at Easter dinner that she was with child again. Your uncle dares not deny he is the father, for he would sooner die than be made a public cuckold, though most know he is. Now, ’tis said, he questions the paternity of all her bairns, but for the eldest who is so like him that there is little doubt as to who sired him.”
“Poor Uncle Henry,” Rosamund replied. “I almost feel sorry for him, for he is so very proud of being a Bolton, born on the right side of the blanket unlike my uncles Edmund and Richard. Still, he is so avaricious and unpleasant one cannot help but have sympathy for Mavis. Uncle Henry is not easy to live with, Maybel, as we both well know. But adultery? ’Tis a fierce vengeance she has taken on him, I fear, and the poor bairns will suffer the most for her indiscretion and his overweening pride.”
“You have a kind heart, my lass,” Maybel said.
“Will you see to the household today, Maybel?” Rosamund asked her. “I am still tired from our travels and would retire to my chamber to rest a while.”
“Run along, lass,” the older woman said.
“I think I should like a bath brought to me,” Rosamund murmured.
“I’ll send the lads up with hot water,” Maybel answered. “They’ll get the tub out for you,m’lady.”
“How grand that sounds,” Rosamund said.
“Well, you’re a knight’s wife now, and should be addressed as thus,” Maybel said. “Now, go along,m’lady.”
Rosamund entered the bedchamber, smiling immediately at the man lying upon the bed awaiting her. “My lord,” she curtsied. “I have ordered a bath, and you must secrete yourself when the servants come, for I would not have it known you are not in the fields culling the livestock, but rather in our bed pleasuring me.” Her amber eyes twinkled. “I have seen my uncles off with picnic lunches to sustain them.”
“Come here, wife, and kiss me,” he said, his hazel-green eyes narrowing speculatively.
Rosamund teasingly kept her distance. “Maybel says that the cook, who has a sister at Otterly, says that Mavis has a big belly and that it isn’t my uncle’s. That is why he looks so dyspeptic. He dare not deny the bairn without bringing scorn upon himself, and you know how Uncle Henry is.”
“Come here,”he repeated, and with more emphasis this time.
“I think I hear the serving men,” Rosamund responded mischievously. “You must hide in my little garderobe, husband.”
Reluctantly Owein arose from their bed and walked to the small sheltered alcove. Turning, he reached out and yanked her to him. “Madame,” he growled at her, “you are in danger of being spanked, for you are, I fear, a wicked little cock tease.” He kissed her a slow kiss.
Breathless, she pushed him away, but not before she had reached down to caress his love rod, which was in very obvious need of her sweet attentions. “We will decide this among ourselves after the tub is ready. Take off your clothing, sir, for I mean to bathe you myself.”
“Ah,” he murmured, “so you are quite as disobedient as I thought, madame. I will obey you, lovey, and look forward to your tender ministrations.” With a chuckle he went into the garderobe.
“Enter,” Rosamund called out to the rapping on the bedchamber door.
It opened to admit several serving men carrying oak buckets of steaming water. One of them, putting his burden down, went to the tiny recess by the fireplace and drew out the tub, which he placed before the hearth. Then the servants began to fill the tub with the hot water. Rosamund splashed a dollop of her precious bathing oil, a gift from the Queen of the Scots, into the water, and immediately the room was filled with the fragrance of white heather. Picking up their empty buckets, the serving men departed the chamber.
“Humph.” The sound came from the garderobe.
“Not yet, my lord, but a moment more,” Rosamund called to her husband, her fingers hurrying to unlace her garments as she quickly shed them. Finally she was as naked as the day she had been born, and she called out to him in dulcet tones, “Come forth, Owein. I am ready for you now.”
He stepped from the shelter of the deep alcove, equally naked. Seeing her as unclothed as he was, Owein smiled. “I shall not cull you from the herd, lovey,” he gently teased her. “God’s blood, Rosamund, you are surely the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I do not believe I have ever seen a woman entirely denuded of her garments.” His glance was openly admiring.
Her own eyes swept over his tall, lean body. In the sunlight filling their bedchamber he was magnificent. His shoulders were so very broad, yet his waist was narrow, his long legs slender yet shapely. A light golden down covered his legs and his chest, a slim ribbon of the fur descending his belly to enter into a thicket of golden curls where his manhood lay resting. “And you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, my lord,” she answered him softly. Then she blushed with the boldness of their actions and turned away from him, suddenly shy of this big fellow who was her husband. Did all wives behave thusly with their lords? She wondered.
He came up behind her, sliding an arm about her waist to draw her back against him. His other hand cupped a breast and began to play with the nipple. His warm lips brushed the nape of her neck, her shoulder. Then he began to speak softly in her ear, the heat of his breath exciting her as did the words he whispered to her.
“You asked me last night if we would make love as the ram and the ewe. I told you that we should, but not the first time. I have sheathed myself within you thrice, Rosamund. Now I shall show you how the ram sheep takes the ewe sheep.” His fingers closed about her breast and squeezed.
She could scarcely breathe with the effect his words had on her. She shivered with arousal as he gently pushed her toward the table by the fire.
When the table was pressing against her thighs he murmured again in her ear. “Now, lovey, bend forward, bracing yourself with your hands upon the table. Thus you are positioned like the sweet little ewe sheep in her meadow. The lustful ram will cover you with his own body, mounting you, and thrusting himself within your wet, hot love sheath...so!” He drove himself forward into her with a single movement.
Rosamund gasped to feel him filling her so fully. He was so very big, and she could swear that his love lance was throbbing inside her.“Ohh, Owein!”she cried softly.“Ohh, yes!”she encouraged him as he began to move upon her with sharp, fierce strokes of his weapon. His weight pressed her breasts flat upon the table. His fingers held her hips tightly. She gasped with her pleasure as he drove himself forward as far as he might go. And then drew himself almost all the way from her body with a slow, sensuous, and majestic stroke of his manhood.“Please!”She could feel the excitement building within her.“Ohh, please don’t stop! Don’t stop, Owein!”She arched her back to allow him greater access.“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!”she cried, and then she reached her peak, falling away, disappointed that there was no more.
