“Why?” he asked low, and pushed two fingers into her love sheath.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Oh, that should not be so good!”
“Why?” he demanded a second time, and his body covered her, his manhood replacing his fingers as he pushed into her.
“Oh Holy Mother of God, it is too sweet, my lord!” She could feel every inch of him as he filled her. She felt his length. His thickness. His warmth.
“It’s good, isn’t it, Philippa?” he murmured softly, his tongue licking at her ear. “It’s very, very good. Tell me you want me even as I desire you, my little one.”
“Yes!” she sobbed. “Yes!” And then she cried out softly as he began to move upon her, slowly at first, and then more rapidly until they were both gasping with the pleasure the union of their two bodies was giving them.
Afterwards they dozed for a brief period, and then the earl arose, straightening his gown back into a semblance of order. Philippa opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She had never anticipated that this elegant and urbane man would be so passionate. She had never anticipated that she would be so passionate. Turning, he saw she was awake again, and reaching down he drew her up into his embrace, and kissed her gently.
“We must go now,” he said. “I will call the oarsmen.”
She nodded. “Is my attire neat?” she asked him.
He brushed her skirts, and then smiled at her. “You are perfect, madame.”
“Next time unlace my bodice, Crispin,” she told him. “I had difficulty breathing, I fear. Perhaps all my gowns should now lace in the front rather than the rear.”
“Perhaps they should,” he agreed with a grin. “I missed those adorable little fruits that you possess, Philippa. Tonight I shall apologize to them for my neglect.”
“I will not couple with you in a public inn!” she declared indignantly.
“On a riverbank, but not an inn?” he teased her.
“People might hear us,” she said.
He laughed. “We will see the accommodation we are given,” the earl told her.
“Even the best accommodation will not guarantee us enough privacy, and we are fortunate not to be coming down from the north,” she replied. “Uncle Thomas and I stayed mostly at convent and monastery guesthouses where the sexes are separated.”
“I should not like that,” he responded, and now it was Philippa who laughed.
She gathered up the cloth, folding and tucking it in their basket. There was no food, for they had eaten everything that had been packed for them. The earl sought out their two oarsmen. They were once again carried upon their servants’ backs to the barge, and settling themselves, they sat back to enjoy the river views as they once again got under way.
They passed the great castle of Windsor, its towers and battlements soaring over the Thames. It had always looked large to Philippa but from her vantage on the river it looked huge and almost forbidding. She thought of the autumn hunting parties she had joined as the queen’s maid of honor. Their barge left Windsor behind, and to the east she could see the Chiltern Hills of Berkshire. They reached the King’s Head Inn shortly after sunset, but the sky would be light for several more hours to come with the spring twilight. Lucy and the earl’s valet, Peter, were awaiting them. Lord Cambridge had engaged an entire wing of the inn for the newlyweds. There was a large bedchamber for the earl and his bride, two small chambers for their servants, and a private dining room. The two oarsmen would be fed in the inn’s kitchens, and housed in the stables for the night.
“The dinner was pre-ordered by Lord Cambridge, milord,” Peter told his master.
“Have the innkeeper serve it then,” the earl said. “It has been a long day, and I can see her ladyship is anxious for her bed.”
“Yes, milord,” the valet answered politely,
Lucy had taken her mistress into the bedchamber, where she had a basin of water waiting so Philippa might wash herself. “The trip weren’t half bad,” she told her mistress. “That Peter of his lordship’s is a good fellow, and pleasant company. Was your river voyage a nice one, my lady?”
“You should have seen Windsor from the water,” Philippa told her. “It looked twice the size it looks riding up to it. I felt very tiny in our little barge. Everything is so different when you travel upon the river. How clever of Uncle Thomas to arrange it.” She bathed her face and hands, telling Lucy when she finished, “Go and get your supper now, lass. But come back to prepare me for bed.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Lucy replied, curtseying. And when she had escorted Philippa back into the dining chamber she hurried off, Peter in her wake.
The innkeeper himself arrived with three serving wenches struggling beneath the weight of three large trays. “Good evening, my lord, my lady. I am Master Summers, and I shall serve you myself.” He beamed effusively at them as the earl seated his bride.
He offered the earl a dish of cold fresh oysters, and Crispin St. Claire grinned to himself. Tom Bolton was hardly being subtle, he thought. Oysters for himself, and gazing across the table he watched his young wife eating fresh green asparagus in a lemony sauce, sucking the meat from the stalks and licking her lips enthusiastically.
“I adore asparagus!” Philippa enthused. “How kind of Lord Cambridge to remember it.” She had no idea how her innocent consumption was affecting her husband.
The trays now revealed a roast of beef from which the innkeeper carved several slices; a well-browned duck, its skin crisp and golden, in a sauce of orange and raisins; individual little pastries filled with minced venison and sweet onions cooked in butter; a platter of little lamb chops; a bowl of tiny carrots, and another bowl of small onions swimming in butter and cream that had been sprinkled with fresh dill. The innkeeper filled their plates. He poured a fragrant wine into their goblets. Lastly he took a fresh cottage loaf, still hot from the oven, and placed it between them with a large crock of butter.
