“Let him remain the summer in our pastures, fattening,” Owein suggested. “We shall sell him after Lammastide.”
She nodded. “’Tis a good plan, my lord.” Then she said, “You must have a bath, sir, for you stink right well of the road. I shall go and prepare it now. Maybel will come for you.”
“Perhaps you will join me, madame?” he said softly. “That fine new tub the cooper made for us has seen little of us in these last months. Now that Banon is safely born we must put it to good use again.” He heard her laugh softly as she ran from the hall. His eyes now strayed to his daughters. Philippa played on the floor beneath the watchful eye of her nursemaid. She was well past two now, and very active. She had Rosamund’s auburn hair, but her baby-blue eyes had darkened to his own hazel green. By the fire the rocker’s foot moved rhythmically as she gently agitated Banon’s cradle. There was little he knew of this second daughter yet but that her look was lively.
Rosamund seemed to be a good breeder. Her confinements appeared easy, with little sickness. She birthed her children readily and without great difficulty. The bairns seemed healthy. But she wanted to give him a son, and the truth was that he longed for a son. But he would never admit to it, for he knew his wife well by now. Rosamund loved him every bit as much as he loved her. If he announced he wanted a lad, she would keep trying to birth a son until she either had one or could no longer conceive. Owein Meredith was no fool. He knew that too many bairns could kill a woman. His own mother had died that way. He should rather have his sweet Rosamund than a son any day.
Maybel interrupted his thoughts. “Your bath is ready, my lord,” she said. “I have not yet had the opportunity to welcome you home, but I do so now.”
“Maybel,” he said bluntly, “how do you keep a woman from conceiving a bairn?”
“My lord! Such a thing is forbidden,” she told him.
“Aye, but there are ways, I know, and I suspect that you know them, too. Listen to me. Rosamund wants to give me a son, but I think to have another bairn so soon after Banon might harm my wife. Can you help me, Maybel?”
“You’ll not refrain from your passions, I know,” Maybel said quietly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“The lass will not leave me in peace,” he chuckled, “and I am weak where she is concerned. I admit it.”
Maybel laughed, but then she grew serious. “My lord, do not be angry, I beg of you, but I have already taken the matter in hand. I did after Philippa was born. Rosamund does not know, but she must rest between her confinements, and she will not if given the choice. Each day I bring her astrengtheningdrink that she drinks down because she trusts me. It is actually a brew I make from the seed of the wild carrot and a bit of honey to take away the bitterness. This should allow your seed to fall on unfallow ground, my lord. A child every two years or more is enough. We must have a son for Friarsgate one day.”
“Agreed, but not too soon.” He smiled at the older woman. “I will go to my bath now easy in the knowledge that we are free to love each other, for my lass will not be denied, wicked wench that she is.”
“’Tis that same spirit that kept her safe from her uncle Henry and his machinations,” Maybel replied, smiling back at Owein.
He hurried upstairs to their chamber and entered it to find his wife awaiting him. After closing the door to the chamber, he threw the bolt. “And will you join me, madame? You did not answer me when I asked you in the hall earlier.” He sat down and offered her a booted foot.
Rosamund pulled the boots from his feet and peeled his sewn stockings off, her nose wrinkling as she did so. “Jesu! Mary!” she exclaimed. “Never have I smelled such a stink, and in answer to your query, my lord, aye, I will join you. How else can I scrub the dirt from your body and pick the nits you have undoubtedly acquired at court from your head? I can but imagine you in the king’s hall with your cronies, drinking and gossiping all night. As I recall, your companions are none too fastidious in their personal toilet.”
“A simple knight does not have many opportunities to bathe,” he admitted to her as she undressed him.
“Did you see Prince Henry?” Rosamund wondered.
“In the hall at dinner, aye, but not to speak with, lovey. He’s grown into a man—tall, big boned, and much like his grandfather, King Edward IV they say. He is wondrous handsome, with skin almost as fair as a maid’s, red-gold hair, and bright blue eyes. He is in some ways like his late brother, Arthur, though that prince had not this prince’s size, or height, or robust health. He is very boisterous and amusingly clever. The people seem to adore him every bit as much as they dislike his father.”
“Get into the tub,” she instructed him, and he obeyed her while she slid out of her chemise, joining him in the warm water.
“You must kiss me, madame, before you take a brush to me,” he said with a grin. “God! This water feels wonderful, lovey. No one can prepare a bath like you can.” He sniffed. “White heather.”
“It will not linger on you, sir, but considering your journey I thought it best to add a bit of scent.” She kissed him quickly on his lips, but he was not satisfied.
He pulled her back into his embrace, his lips pressed firmly against hers, and beguiled as she always was by his kiss, Rosamund sighed. Their tongues played a game of hide-and-seek. His hands began to roam her firm body, fondling her buttocks, caressing her breasts. His very quick arousal surprised even him. They did not speak. Instead, he pushed her back against the oaken walls of their tub, and lifting her up, impaled her on his love rod.
“Ahhhhh!”They both sighed with pleasure together.
Her arms slipped about his neck as she pressed against him.
He took her face between his two palms. “Do not ask me to leave you again, Rosamund. I missed you greatly.”
“And I you, my lord. Ah, oh, that is nice, Owein.”
His buttocks contracted as he thrust into her. “Aye, ’tis heaven, lovey.”
Their lips met in a burning kiss that but intensified the passion felt between them. He could feel the crisis approaching as could she. His desire exploded as her sharp little teeth sank into his muscled shoulder. Then her legs unwrapped from about his waist, and she clung to him weakly, their breath coming in short quick pants that gradually died away to slow deep sighs of satisfaction.
Finally Rosamund opened her eyes once again. Her legs still felt a bit wobbly, but gamely taking up the flannel cloth, she began to wash her husband. Owein had a small smile upon his lips, and she laughed softly to see it.
Hearing her mirth he opened his hazel-green eyes and said, “You find something funny, madame?”
