“Your sister is a bossy woman if you were to ask me,” Lucy said sharply. “I’m not of a mind to wed right now. Besides, I think you are probably too old for me.”
“I am forty,” he answered her.
“And I am twenty,” Lucy said. “Still, if one day we were to become fond of one another I might consider marriage. But not now, and I will tell your sister so if she presses the issue. Come on now, and help me tip the tub to get the last of the water out. The supper on the table will be cold if we do not complete our duty, and depart. Our master and mistress will not thank us if it is.”
“I think they are more interested in their bedsport right now than food,” Peter said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Why, bless me,” Lucy chuckled, “you are not all stiff and starch, are you?”
“We shall not tell Mistress Marian that, however, shall we?” he responded.
“Nay, we won’t, Master Slyboots,” Lucy said with a grin.
The tub emptied, together they wrestled it back into the large cupboard in the wall and departed the apartment, Lucy giving the door a little slam on the way out to alert her master that they were gone.
The door to the bedchamber opened, and the earl came out to inspect the covered dishes on the tray. There was a small dish of oysters that had come up the river today, and he swallowed six down, pouring himself a goblet of red wine and drinking it along with the oysters. Philippa came sleepily from the bedchamber. She was naked. She said nothing, but inspected the tray, and picking up a meat pastry began to eat it hungrily. He poured another goblet of wine and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, reaching for a second pastry, which she devoured as quickly as the first. She peered at the dishes, and seeing a long dish she began picking asparagus in a lemony sauce from it, sucking the meat from the stalks, and licking her lips as she finished each stem of the vegetable.
He felt his member tingling as he watched her and quickly looked away, taking up next a small haunch of venison, tearing the meat from the bone with his strong white teeth. The venison was flavorful and chewy. He drank more wine. He could never recall in all his life eating with a naked woman. Well, why not? They were man and wife in the privacy of their own chambers. And then, unable to restrain himself, he casually pulled off the toweling around his loins.
The sound of the toweling hitting the floor caused Philippa to look up. Her eyes met his, sliding slowly down his long and lean body. Then she shrugged, and reached for a piece of capon. They were both still standing at the sideboard, not having bothered to sit in their hunger. Having satisfied themselves somewhat with the oysters, the meat, and the asparagus, they tore the warm cottage loaf apart. Philippa scooped some butter from the crock, smearing it over the bread with her thumb. Then to her surprise he took it from her, and pulling little pieces from the chunk he began to feed her. She reciprocated, putting bits of the cheddar cheese into his mouth. He sucked on her fingers, and she then sucked on his.
He took the bowl of strawberries, the bowl of clotted cream, and a small jug of honey and set them on the floor before the fire. Then reaching up he drew her down, and kissed her slowly before laying her on her back. Philippa watched him silently as he placed a dab of the clotted cream on each of her nipples, and topped it with a strawberry. He then smeared her torso with the cream and strawberries, and began to eat them one by one from her belly, licking her completely free of the cream. The two little fruits on her nipples he saved for last, sucking on her flesh until she was squirming.
Finally he spoke. “Did you like what I did to you earlier?” His hot breath tickled her ear.
She knew exactly to what he referred. “Aye,” she said low. “But I am certain it is very wicked, Crispin.”
“Aye,” he drawled softly, “it is very wicked.” He nibbled at her lips. “I can show you another way to be wicked, little one. Do you want to be wicked with me?”
She nodded eagerly, and then watched wide-eyed as he took the small jug of honey and dipped his partly swollen manhood into it. Drawing it out, he sat lightly atop her and pressed himself against her lips. They opened, and her pink tongue began to lick the honey from it, but because the thick sweet was beginning to drizzle with the warmth of his body he pushed himself into her mouth. For a moment Philippa looked startled, but then she began to suck on him until she had removed every vestige of the honey, and he had grown hard in the cavern of her mouth. She released him finally, and sliding down and between her legs he began to pump her fiercely.
Philippa’s nails raked down his long back. She whimpered, and her whimpers grew into a moan which grew into a scream of total pleasure as he thrust himself back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until her head was spinning wildly, and she was dizzy and weak with the hot pleasure coursing through her. I love him! I love him! she thought, but she would not say it, for he had not said it.
Their bodies were wet with the passion of their efforts. He ground himself deep into her love channel. He felt her shuddering as she reached the apex of her delight, and yet she did not cry her love for him. Was she incapable of that tender emotion, or had she just a whore’s nature? He didn’t know, and right now he didn’t care. His juices burst forth again, leaving him weak and helpless to his love for her.
They remained before the fire for some time. Outside the dusk faded into evening. The birds ceased their calls, and the rain pattered gently down with only an occasional rumble of thunder or brief flash of lightning now. The earl of Witton finally got to his feet, and reaching down, pulled Philippa up. Together they walked into their bedchamber and fell into bed where they slept until well after dawn the next day.
Philippa awoke first, and heard the sounds of morning outside of their window. She lay quietly pondering the events of the previous evening. I have to go back to Friarsgate, she thought. I cannot bear not understanding all of this. I need my mother. She smiled to herself, thinking that she had never thought to hear herself say such a thing, but this love was totally confusing. She slipped from the bed, and walking across the chamber brought forth from the warm coals of the hearth the pitcher of water that Lucy had left them. Pouring some into the silver ewer, she washed herself free of the residue of their shared passion. Then she disposed of the water, throwing it out the window.
He stirred slowly, watching her as she opened her trunk and pulled on a clean chemise. Watched her as she sat down at the little table that held her female fripperies, and taking up her brush began to brush her long auburn hair, carefully working through the knots and tangles until her hair was a shining silken swath. “Good morrow, countess,” he finally said.
Philippa turned, smiling. “Good morning, my lord. There is water for bathing.” She gestured gracefully towards the other table.
“Did you not bathe me well last night, little one?” he said low.
She actually blushed. “My lord,” she remonstrated with him.
He laughed. “The next time I shall drizzle honey on you, and lick it off.”
“Crispin, you really are wicked,” she said, but she was smiling with the hot memories of honey, and strawberries and cream.
The next few weeks were wonderful. They traveled his estate together on horseback. He made love to her in a pile of hay in a distant meadow, and almost had his bottom bee-stung for his trouble. Philippa had laughed so hard that she had wept. He explained the workings of his estates to her. They walked the three streets of Wittonsby, stopping at each cottage to greet their tenants and speak with them. The nights were filled with pleasure and passion. And then the world intruded upon them.
A messenger arrived at Brierewode. He wore the badge of Cardinal Wolsey. The earl of Witton was ordered to attend upon the cardinal at Hampton Court. The king was now on his summer progress in Wiltshire and Berkshire. The queen had gone to her favorite, Woodstock. The king would come to Oxford in September to fetch the queen.
“It is almost mid-August,” Philippa protested. “We must leave for the north if I am to be there for my sister’s wedding. Why does he want you? Are you not finished with that part of your life?”
