RulingPassion (6 page)

She sat on the edge of the platform bed and turned to face
him, studying his face and body with unabashed delight. His skin glowed tawny
gold in the firelight, accented by the brighter sheen of blond hair. Hard
shoulder muscles rippled as she brushed careful hands along them, tracing the
fine line of throat and collarbone down to his arm. The hard brown nipples
fascinated her. He drew breath sharply and flinched when she circled them with
her fingers and tweaked, but he made no move to stop her.

When she ran the tip of a finger along his compressed lips,
he stared at her, and the hard line of his mouth relaxed into a smile. The
smoky gray of his eyes reflected the firelight in wicked glints. She leaned
forward to kiss him, and he put a hand on the back of her head to hold her in
place while she probed gently at his mouth, parting his lips with her tongue
and exploring the mysteries within. Not content, she moved away from his mouth,
trailing kisses down along his bristly cheek to the softer skin of his neck.
The pulse in his throat throbbed invitingly under her probing tongue, while his
earlobe made a soft, tender contrast.

He dropped his hand to his side when she drew back. She
sucked in a breath and let it out on a long sigh of joy and doubt, staring at
his pleasure-tensed face, then reached over to lay her palm on his flat
stomach. He stilled and waited. It took her a few moments to work up the nerve
to move her hand lower, letting her fingers creep across his belly, smoothing
the lighter tangle of hair there until they reached the jutting length of his
hardened cock.

He flinched and moaned at the touch. She glanced at him to
make sure she hadn’t done harm, but he gave her a nod. Thus encouraged, she
reached for him again and wrapped her fingers around his proudly erect flesh.
She thought his cock much like the man himself; smooth, almost soft to look at
and feel, but strong beneath and hard when needed. The length and breadth of
his rod still amazed her. How could all that sizeable mass fit inside her?

His breath grew ragged when she let her fingers roam up and
down, trying the smoothness of the bulbous tip, searching the shaft for the
most sensitive areas, investigating the full, heavy sacs below; hair-roughened,
yet softly vulnerable. His cock began to throb under her caresses and she
brushed her cupped hand up and down it, speeding up to keep pace with his
writhing.

After just a few minutes of that, he suddenly reached up and
took her wrist, holding it firmly enough to stay her hand.

“No more, Rosalind. I’m like to burst.”

She paused, unsure what to do next. He reached over and
tugged her toward him, lifting one of her legs as he rolled her over until she
sat astride him, her hollow positioned directly above his rod. The tip of him
caressed the sweet spot between her legs just as his hands reached up to cup
her breasts, fingers stroking the nipples until they hardened. The pleasurable
sensations rippled over her body like running water, pouring through every vein
and muscle. She leaned forward to take control of his mouth again.

The sweetness filled her in waves of ecstasy. She clung to
him and moved over him, straining for closer union. He helped her raise herself
to a near sitting position, ready to receive him, and then she carefully
lowered herself onto his shaft. The fit was tight, but she let him in slowly,
waiting for the pain she’d had on those first occasions. None came. After a few
smooth strokes, he slid into her, embedded himself in her.

He watched her, waiting until he was sure she was
comfortable holding him, then he pushed upward gently.

Stabs of pleasure like lightning bolts tore through her;
building a tightness and tension that made her shake as hard as he was. She
clung to his arms, leaning forward to press the tips of her breasts against his
chest, rocking against him. He let her set the pace, but she couldn’t restrain
herself long and began to ride faster and faster, until they burst together
past the barriers of everyday life, into a universe of color and joy beyond
holding.

Afterward she tipped forward, resting on his chest, her
sweat-slicked body tight against his, while their breathing slowed to a more
normal pace. His arms enfolded her in the circle of his heat and protection.
The peace and sense of closeness sank into her soul while small aftershocks
rolled gently through her.

Later still she moved off him, shifted to his side and let
him wrap her in the warmth of the blanket and his arms.

Chapter Eight

In the morning they woke with the first light of the sun.
Before they rose they lay for a while, watching each other. Even with hair
rumpled, eyes still puffy from sleep, and chin bristling with blond whiskers,
he made something inside her convulse with the longing to touch him and draw
him into her embrace.

His fingers brushed along her breasts, rousing the hunger
for him again, then slid down to her slit. His whiskers rasped against the
undersides of her breasts as he tongued the nipples and the mild burn added to
the delightful heat he roused in her.

By the time he slid into her, she throbbed with the need for
him. He didn’t start gently, but buried himself as deeply as he could in one
long, smooth stroke. His cock hit a spot inside her that made her body tighten
even more and tremble with need. A few more long strokes, finding that
wonderful spot again and again, and she broke into another space where she
floated in an exhilarating peace while her body continued to spasm in waves of
pleasure.

Jeoffrey roared at nearly the same time, spilling his seed
inside her. He collapsed into the circle of her arms and rested his head on her
shoulder. She cradled him, brushing her fingers through the tangled, silky
strands of his hair.

She could have happily stayed with him that way for the rest
of the day, but duty called them both.

When they’d washed, dressed, and broken their fast with
bread and cider, he took leave of her, saying he needed to check on some of his
tenants. Jeoffrey gave her a list of tasks to do while he was gone; including
ascertaining a hot bath would await him on his return that evening.

Once he’d ridden out, Rosalind began sorting through the
chest of his clothes to neaten and organize them while checking for items that
needed to be repaired or replaced. She found an odd, shivery excitement in the
intimacy of invading his most personal belongings. It required a stern lecture
to herself about the dangers of indulging impossible dreams to get her back to
reality.

The task of sorting through and organizing his clothing took
most of the morning. After a midday meal of plain bread, a small bit of cold
meat and an apple, delivered to their shared quarters by the same tongue-tied
servant as usually came, she worked on repairing the items on the stack she’d
made. In mid-afternoon, she ran out of thread, and went in search of more.

She had to ask a housemaid and one of the cook’s assistants
where to find the head housekeeper before she finally located the woman
supervising a group of servants making candles.

Elspeth listened to her request with one ear while keeping
her eyes on the vat of tallow and the girl stirring it. The housekeeper turned
to look her over when Rosalind finished her request, her mouth pursed into a
tight frown, eyes contemptuous. Finally the woman sniffed, called over another
housemaid and told her to show Rosalind to the linen supply store.

“Mind you take only what you need for his lordship’s repairs
and no more,” the housekeeper enjoined as they turned to go. “We have naught so
much to give anyone who thinks they might have a right to whatever they will.”

Rosalind, who’d begun to walk away, turned back to the
woman. Elspeth watched her with an unfriendly glare. The words to reprimand the
housekeeper for her forwardness rose to Rosalind’s tongue, but she checked
them. She had no position anymore, she reminded herself. For all the world, she
was now no more than any other servant, and the housekeeper had every right to
remind her of the reality of her position.

Rosalind sighed and caught up with the girl who’d been sent
to guide her.

At least this young woman, probably only a year or two
younger than her own nineteen years, was more friendly. “I’m Glennys, my…er,
ma’am,” the girl said, fumbling over how she should address Rosalind. Because
there was no malice in her confusion, Rosalind smiled at her and said, “I’m
Rosalind. Once it was Lady Rosalind, but that life is behind me now. Call me
Rosalind.”

“Yes, ma…er, Rosalind. You mustn’t mind Elspeth so much. Her
disposition isn’t the best on the days her joints pain her. She’s not bad,
really. She tries to be fair at least. My cousin works in Sir William de
Railles’ kitchens, and the stories I’ve heard from her! I won’t say too much on
those, but some would make your skin crawl. ‘Tis enough to make me know how
lucky I am to be here.”

The girl looked at Rosalind, looking to see if a rebuke for
her forwardness or chatter was coming. When it didn’t, she continued. “All do
try to be fair here or they do not last long. Sir Jeoffrey insists on it. I
know I am fortunate to be in his household. And isn’t he a handsome one? So big
and strong… And those eyes, they—” She stopped abruptly and blushed. “Of
course, you’re with him so much more, I’m sure you know.”

Rosalind took pity on the girl’s embarrassment. “He is a
handsome man; perhaps the most handsome I have ever seen. But more importantly,
he is a good man, one who tries to be fair and just and do the right thing to
protect his people. You may not know, but those are qualities too rarely found
in lords of manors. Most are interested only in what suits them best or
advances their own ambitions or cravings.”

Glennys nodded agreement. “I haven’t been out much in the
world, mum, but I’ve heard stories. Some would curl your toes to hear. I know
what you say is true, despite what the priests and the church try to teach us.”

The girl suddenly paused before a closed door. She knocked
softly and pushed the handle down. Five women looked up from various projects
as they entered. One woman spun wool into thread, two operated weaving looms
and two others were sewing pieces of cloth together. All stared at Rosalind as
she and Glennys entered the room, but none offered a smile or a greeting.
Knowing how gossip spread through a household, Rosalind was sure they were
aware of who she was.

“Ladies,” she said, offering them that courtesy. Only one
even nodded in return. The others just stared. Rosalind felt their disapproval
or resentment of her as a weight on her shoulders, but she just stood
straighter and tried not to return their animosity with haughtiness.

“Lady R… Rosalind needs more thread to repair Lord
Jeoffrey’s garments,” Glennys announced. The women made no response but all
looked toward the cupboard where apparently such items were stored.

Glennys took the spool Rosalind had brought down and wound
onto it thread from one of the large spools in the cupboard until Rosalind
nodded that the quantity was sufficient. Glennys broke the thread with her
teeth and handed back the smaller spool.

When Rosalind thanked her for the help, Glennys responded,
“Come look out for me whenever you need anything, mum. Though my duties be
primarily in the kitchen and that’s where you’re like to find me most of the
time, I’ll help in any way I can.”

Rosalind thanked her again, truly grateful for the
amicability of at least one member of the household. When Glennys went to
return to the kitchen, after pointing the way back to the great hall, Rosalind
decided to take a few minutes rest outside in the fresh air.

She passed through the kitchen garden, heading for the bench
she’d shared with Jeoffrey on her second morning at the manor, where they’d
discussed their future and made their promises to each other. The deserted
corner of the wild garden had a tranquil silence that fed her soul. Although
she passed two men working on the vegetable plots, no one seemed to venture
into this area.

Her spirit felt bruised by the reactions of the housekeeper
and the women in the sewing hall. Before the devastation Sir William had
wrought, she’d always been a favorite, with both her family and the household
staff. Her father’s housekeeper and servants had treasured her, let her help
them out at her will, laughed at her clumsy attempts at the various household
tasks and congratulated her on successes.

She missed her family so much. Her father was an easy-going
man, given to laughter and jests, one who probably allowed both staff and
family too much leeway, but he was well-loved by all. Her mother gave her
affection less openly, but she would willingly do anything to help anyone who
asked.

The memories of their end were still too painful to endure
for long, so she turned her thoughts to her possible future instead and
wondered what kind of man Jeoffrey might find for her. A good one, she hoped,
one as kind and as affable as Jeoffrey himself. Too much to hope he could find
a man as handsome and charming, as clever and intelligent, as fair and
demanding as Jeoffrey himself. Though she’d known him not quite a week, he set
a standard she doubted any other man could match.

Hard to bear the possibility she’d go to some other man and
never see him again. Was there any way she could stay here? Perhaps if she
refused to wed another… But he would wed a lady who could bring him the
advantages he needed to protect his people, and his sense of rightness would
insist he not keep around one who might tempt him to dishonor the marriage
vows. Jealousy burned in her stomach toward the unknown woman who would have
him. Could any other possibly appreciate as well as she did all the excellent
traits that combined to make him a man unlike any other? His wit, his
intelligence, his sense of justice, his—

A masculine voice interrupted her reverie. “Are you enjoying
the view, Lady Rosalind, or just the peace and stillness?”

Startled, she glanced quickly up at the dark, handsome
knight standing nearby. “Sir Philip. I didn’t expect to see you here. The
practice fields are on the other side of the manor.”

“I sometimes need a quiet place and time to gather my own
thoughts.”

“Then forgive me for invading your retreat,” she said,
starting to rise.

He looked surprised and held out a hand to stop her. “Nay,
forgive me, I meant it not that way. In fact, it was naught but pleasure to
find you sitting here. You enhance the garden, my lady.”

“You’re a well-practiced flatterer, Sir Philip. Would you
care to sit?”
He smiled and sat next to her on the stone bench, putting a small distance
between them.

“Come you out here often?” he asked. “You enjoy the outdoors
and the garden?”

She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “I spent…I’m
not sure how long, but I think it was at least two weeks in Sir William de
Railles’ dungeon. I find I now want to pass at least some time each day
out-of-doors. I appreciate the view of trees and green fields, the smell of
flowers, the feel of the breeze on my face more than I ever expected.”

“Ah. Perhaps, that’s why your thoughts appeared a long way off,
my lady,” he said.

“Not so far as all that, Sir Philip.”

“They did not seem to be entirely happy thoughts. ‘Tis a
pity to see a face so lovely as yours marred by sadness.”

She met the man’s dark eyes, surprised by the sympathy she
saw there. She’d thought him one who thrived only on excelling at warrior’s
skills and charming ladies with his flattering tongue. Apparently Sir Philip
had depths she hadn’t guessed at. Yet, now that she considered it, she
shouldn’t be surprised. He was Jeoffrey’s best friend, after all.

“I…I am not used to being in the…situation I find myself in
now,” she admitted. “‘Tis not so easy as I would have thought. The staff is not
happy about my presence. No one other than yourself and my lord is even
friendly. In the eyes of God I am a sinner, and in the eyes of man, a harlot.”

“And in your own eyes, my lady?” Sir Philip asked.

“Ah, there is the heart of the matter,” she admitted. “In my
own eyes I am not sure. I believe I am just a woman doing what she must to
survive. But is it truly so, or do I deceive myself? Lord Jeoffrey would
present a great temptation to any woman. And I had another choice. I could have
retired to a convent and taken the veil.”

“Thus depriving the world of the grace of your beauty.”

“There is much other beauty for the eyes of man to feast
upon. But I do not believe I have any calling from God to the contemplative
life and therefore to take the vows of a convent would be another sort of lie.
One I could not countenance.”

“So you chose the course that seemed to have the least evil
about it.” Sir Philip took her hand, and she looked up to meet his eyes again.

“I tell myself I did. Then I ask myself if I am just making
excuses for doing what I most wanted to do rather than what was right.”

“We do have ways of protecting ourselves from unpleasant
facts,” Sir Philip mused. “Others frequently have a clearer view of our truth.
Have you the courage to ask me how I see you?” he asked. “Beyond the beauty of
your outer seeming?”

She saw the kindness in his deep brown eyes, but she saw
strength and courage and honesty there as well. He would tell her the truth as
he saw it, and he warned her she might not like what he said. But avoiding such
knowledge would change nothing whereas acquiring it might allow her to alter
what was needed. “How do you see me, Sir Philip?” she asked.

A small smile crooked his mouth into an appealing grin. Some
woman would be very fortunate to wed this man.

“I see a lady, gently bred and raised. One who has faced a
terrible tragedy and severe trials, and come through them with goodness and
honor intact. I see a lady whose entire world has been turned upside down, one
struggling to adapt to a new reality, a state for which her upbringing could
not prepare her. I see a lady who faces trials yet, for she has a pride that
will be difficult to subdue. Spoiled and cosseted as a child, she has only
recently had to face adverse circumstances, yet she is one who will continue to
face those tests with the honor and honesty and dignity that is so much a part
of her. She may not always succeed, but she will learn from her failures and
grow.”