Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (11 page)

"I love you, Valentine, oh, I love you so much!"
She pulled him back down to her, and he was there. After a
stabbing pain, he gently broke through to the core of her female
essence and their bodies moved, slowly at first, rose and fell
together in the rhythm of a graceful piece of music. He was in
her, with her, and she could feel a million stars exploding
throughout her body, from the tips of her breasts to the delicate
flesh in her loins, and he plunged into her, and she rose to meet
him, again and again, until they both cried out in unison, their
bodies sliding in their mingled sweat, glistening in the pale
moon, and they were one body, one soul, of one earth, soaring to
the pinnacles of one heaven, and she cried out again and again, "I
love you, I love you..."
Oh, how rich and right it felt on her lips, like a luscious
delicacy, and he echoed her cries until they blended into the
depths of the night that swept them into its star-strewn skies.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Denys awoke to find her husband snuggled next to her. A hot wave
of desire shot through her, nestling between her thighs. She
wanted this man who was her liege lord, who had come back to her,
whom she loved more than she ever thought she could love anyone.
"Valentine," she whispered into his ear and he stirred, mumbling
some incoherent non-words. He was still on the battlefield, arrows
flying above his head, men falling to their deaths, beaten
lifeless to the ground. The pounding of hooves and clanging of
armor rang in his ears along with the cries of men in agony, with
rage and fury, each side fighting for what they felt was
rightfully theirs. He moaned aloud, thrashing about, kicking the
coverlet off his naked body.
"Valentine..." The soft voice came through the noise, like the
caress of feathers against his skin, suffocating in his silver
enclosure. He reached out for a clod of earth or a tent flap, but
instead felt the curves of a woman's body, the fullness of her
breasts, the thighs parted, the sheath's warm moistness ready for
him.
He pressed his hard body against her softness, his desire growing
more sensitive to the feel of the velvety down as the thighs
closed around him, squeezing him gently in exquisite agony. Then
his mouth descended upon hers with such force their teeth actually
met and then he was devouring her, his hands winding through her
hair, his tongue probing harshly, meeting hers, and a low growl
escaped his throat as he crushed his body to hers.
His chest crushed her breasts, his pelvis ground into hers, his
hardness bruising the insides of her thighs as he parted them with
his knee. He grasped her hands together in his, bringing them up
over her head. He straddled her, his tongue flicking over her
neck, his lips nibbling her lips, murmuring all the time, "
Ma femme, je t'ame
..."
"And you are my man, Valentine. I love you too."
"...my love, my love," he moaned as his lips blazed a fiery trail
down her neck, between her breasts. Then he flicked his tongue
over the sensitive buds until she shuddered with a wild wave of
desire in her loins.
He mounted her, naked, his engorged manhood standing out before
him, swollen and ready to conquer her. Her firm legs, conditioned
from years of riding, wound around his back and pulled him down to
her. His arms were so lean, so muscular, supporting himself as he
teased and tormented, touching her then pulling away slowly until
she thought she would scream with desire for him. His hair fell
onto her face and he brushed it over her cheek like a feather
before pulling away.
His mouth left hers and his lips, slowly, with agonizing
tenderness, traced the hollow of her neck and once more sought her
breasts. "Valentine," she gasped, but he did not hurry, he did not
rush to a shattering climax, prolonging the sweet agony for as
long as possible. His hands moved lower to caress the tops of her
thighs as he explored and stroked, so slowly and gently.
She moved against him, faster as her passion mounted. His fingers
were inside her now, probing so delicately, idling then moving on,
and she cried out as a primitive wave of desire clutched her
heart. She clenched her teeth as her arms wound around his head,
kissing that soft hair, grabbing it in bunches, feeling the wavy
locks slip through her fingers as his tongue slowly and lightly
licked at her breasts.
Her hand sought and grasped him, and she rasped, "Valentine, make
love to me now, please, I cannot wait..." and she held him
encircled in her hand, stroking him with the tips of her fingers,
bringing him slowly to her entrance, closer and closer.
His hips jerked back and he let her continue stroking him, and
finally he eased himself into her. She cried out as a series of
explosions tore through her, torturing her with exquisite bursts
of pleasure, each wave of ecstasy leaving her longing for more.
Their movements intensified and he drove into her with the force
of a battering ram. She yielded to him completely, gasping for air
as his mouth claimed hers, slowly, lovingly, in such stark
contrast to the fierce thrusting of his manhood into her essence.
He clutched at her buttocks and with a ragged moan, unleashed his
desire in a frenzy of passion that sent a galaxy of stars bursting
behind her closed lids. The fierce thrusting calmed to a placid
rocking. They continued to move in a sedate rhythm. He remained
inside her and let his lips linger on her neck, bringing her face
to his, greeting her with softened lazy kisses. They nibbled and
pecked, in the extended and prolonged relaxation of afterglow.
Mingled with the dampness and the warm elixir of their passion, he
murmured as he continued to stroke her hair and plant tiny, more
concentrated kisses on her nose, her lips, her cheeks, in a placid
conclusion.
Side by side, their heartbeats slowed to a normal pace, arms and
legs intertwined, as delicious sleep overtook their senses.
It was noon and they'd just risen from bed and dressed. Their
breakfast, left at the door by his groom, had remained untouched.
As Valentine placed rings on each of his fingers, he was telling
her about the battle. "We were at Agincourt, the very field upon
which that milestone of history occurred, when Edward made King
Louis an offer of peace," he explained.
"Everyone was for it, including Louis, who accepted the offering
eagerly. Louis not only agreed to peace, but he will be paying
Edward fifty thousand crowns a year and he also paid a fortune in
ransom for the return of Marguerite of Anjou. She is to return to
her birthplace and spend the rest of her days there. However,
there was one person against this peace treaty with France and
refused to sign it."
"Who?"
"The born enemy of the French, our Duke of Gloucester."
"Richard opposing the King's treaty? How did Edward take it?"
"With characteristic good nature, as he presented Richard with
another grant of estates."
"Why, I am astounded. That is the first time Richard ever
disagreed with Edward on anything."
"I think Richard is coming into his own and does not find it
necessary to see everything Edward's way. After all, he just about
rules the entire north; Edward has practically made him king
here."
"And you think it's going to his head?"
"Well, I wasn't going to say it, but he has had a few skirmishes
with some of the other councilors here."
"You included?"
"Nay, we've never had a harsh word to say to each other." He shook
his head and then smiled. "But enough of war and national
politics," he said, winding tendrils of her hair around his
fingers and nuzzling her neck. "I have a session right here in my
little Yorkshire realm I'd like to begin."
A new wave of desire scampered through her and she breathed a sigh
as he planted small kisses on her face, her neck, his tongue
darting in and out of her ear, causing her to shiver with
excitement.
"You started it," she murmured, pressing her body to his, feeling
its strength and growing hardness against her thighs.
"Nay...I'm starting this..." he whispered and lifted her off her
feet, carrying her back to the bed, placing her on the edge.
"Valentine, we've barely risen!"
"Oh, I'm more than barely risen, my dear."
He removed her chemise and let her skirts tumble to the floor. Her
satin undergarments slid away like droplets of oil from her skin
and he laid her back on the bed. Her heart began to race in
anticipation of the rapture that was to follow, her breathing
quickened in excitement. "Oh, how I missed you," he murmured,
burying his face in her hair.
She raked her hands through his hair, desperate for his touch,
aching for the warmth of his skin next to hers. But he pulled
away, stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her for a long
minute, his eyes sliding up and down her smooth curves, swelling
breasts and firm thighs as if for the first time.
"God, you are so beautiful," he murmured, shaking his head as if
in awe.
"Am I?" she whispered, holding her arms out to him, trembling with
emotion, yearning for him, but he deliberately stayed just out of
her reach.
"Do you want to take off my clothes?" he asked, pulling the
strands of gold from around his neck, slipping the rings from his
fingers and letting them spill to the floor.
"But you just put them on."
"‘Tis no fun taking off your own clothes."
"Aye, I do, come over here, please, Valentine."
"Nay, on second thought, I think it may excite you more to watch
me."
He began slowly slipping out of his pourpoint, then tossed it
away. He glided across the chamber and stood in the window, the
noonday sun casting a glow about his lean body, making him look
like a god just descended Olympus. He slipped the tunic over his
head, then, bare-chested, strutted about the chamber, flexing his
arms, rippling his biceps as the beautifully developed muscles
obeyed his every move. He strode over to her and brought her to
him, kissing her deeply, letting their flesh touch, sending a wave
of fire between them.
He pulled away and peeled off his hose, one leg at a time, and
twirled them in the air before flinging them aside. He was now
completely naked. He plucked the long feather from his cap and
approached her, waving it through the air.
"You think my hands are magic, wait until I tickle you with this."
He brushed her breasts with the very tip of the feather, causing
her to squirm in delight as the delicate down brushed her
sensitive nipples. A rush of desire spread from the pit of her
stomach and fanned out to her most sensitive nerve endings. He let
it slide down her body, over her abdomen, along the soft sensitive
flesh of her inner thighs. It felt like nothing she'd ever
experienced.
Lighter than the softest caress of his fingertips, it teased and
tormented in its subtle and fleecy gentleness, like a whisper of a
breeze on her skin. She moaned in delight and arched her back
instinctively, aching for him to come to her. Slowly he trailed a
line back up her front with the feather's tickling ends, brushing
over her breasts, then making one last stroke over her thighs.
He lay on his back and pulled her on top of him. She sat up and
straddled him as he continued to stroke her with the feather.
"Let your hair fall over me," he whispered, his voice husky, his
breaths coming in rapid gasps. She pulled the combs from her hair,
lowered her head and let the silky ends brush against his chest,
neck and face. He wound tendrils around his fingers and kissed
them gently, then pulled her down to him.
She tasted the sweetness of wine on his tongue as it met hers,
probing slowly then becoming more urgent as their passion mounted.
He was hard, he was ready; she eased him into her and rode him
slowly, enjoying this feeling of supreme command, controlling
their movements, the degree of penetration.
She teased him this time, easing him out, then plunging back down
upon him, causing him to moan in ecstasy with every thrust until
finally their urgency culminated in waves of pulsating urgency. In
the throes of passion they consumed each other, lost in the fervor
of one beautiful body united with another, a desire bordering on
indecency. She ground against him until his passion subsided and
he begged her to stop, exhausted.
"Nay, I shall not stop," she declared, just as he teased her in
holding back when she was ready and pulsating with desire. She
continued her thrusts until he was completely satiated and she
could no longer feel him inside her. She laughed wickedly, moved
her head down to his exhausted manhood and teased it with her
tongue. He gasped in surprise and fanned his fingers through her
hair until once again he was ready, and she repeated the
performance, riding him gently at first, then pounding harder and
harder until the blazing release, and she lay supine atop him, her
body now exhausted.
Now she felt like the wanton strumpet that Elizabeth had accused
her of being. But she smiled because it felt so wickedly
wonderful.
On the land granted to him by the King in Wetherby, near York,
Valentine began building a sumptuous manor, calling it Dovebury,
meaning "Dove's Castle." She didn't realize just how magnificent
it was until she sat down with the steward and auditors and ran
over the expenses he'd run up. Thousands of pounds to have three
hundred thousand bricks purchased and carted to Wetherby, a legion
of Flemish laborers to lay them, a team of architects to design
the main house and its outbuildings, in the tradition of
Westminster Palace, but on a smaller scale.
The house, from the plans she'd seen, resembled a castle enough to
be considered one; double-moated, built around a quadrangle, with
towers at each corner of the crenelated curtain walls; marble from
Florence, stained glass from Venice, tapestries of Arras that
looked like the trees in Sherwood Forest when rolled and stood on
end. Included in the estate were stables, gardens, and a chapel.
Just like Valentine, it was to be a regal paragon of nobility.
"Valentine, we do not need this!" she exclaimed one evening whilst
supping in the solar in private, without the staff. He merely
smiled and broke into laughter when she lifted her goblet to take
a sip of wine and a sparkling diamond and ruby necklace slid to
her lips. He stood behind her to clasp it around her neck, and
brushed his lips over her gently as she shivered in delight.
"Valentine, this is really not necessary, I do not need all these
gems dripping from my neck!" she exclaimed, fingering the
teardrop-shaped ruby that nestled between her breasts.
"Nay, it is not necessary, not essentially necessary. That is the
beauty of it all! I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my
life showering you with gifts."
He kissed her warmly, and all thoughts of berating him for his
extravagance fled in an instant.
Thus several months of easy contentment followed. One day blended
into another as they went about their daily routines, while their
nights passed all too quickly in a blaze of love. There were,
however, some events which marked time passing.
"He looks like an absolute angel," Valentine whispered as they
leaned over the cradle to gaze upon Richard and Anne's newborn son
Edward.