“Not another word, Tom!” Rosamund scolded her cousin. “And before you even ask, he does not know yet why he was summoned.”
“Rosamund, I am crushed, dear girl, that you would think me a common gossip,” Lord Cambridge said dramatically, his hand going to his heart.
“You could certainly never be called a common gossip, Tom,” she replied wickedly.
Patrick laughed. “My lord, when I learn of why I have been sent for, I assure you it will not be long before the entire court learns of it. I admit to being curious myself, for the king knows I am not a man of the court and that I am content to remain on my lands at Glenkirk. But he also knows my son is there to oversee our estates in my absence.”
“You have a wife, then, my lord?” Tom asked.
“I am a widower, my lord,” the earl replied, “or I should not have approached your cousin Rosamund. I am pleased to see what a gallant protector she has in you.”
Lord Cambridge nodded slowly. “Rosamund is dear to my heart, my lord. She and her daughters are my only living family. I should not like to see her hurt, you understand.”
“Of course,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly.
“Dearest Tom, I cannot explain to you what has happened,” Rosamund began, “for I do not even comprehend it myself, but we have always trusted each other. You must believe me when I tell you that whatever is to be between myself and Patrick, it will be all right.” She turned to the earl. “Will it not, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said, amazed to realize that he actually believed it. She did not know what was happening between them? Well, neither did he! He had walked into the Great Hall of Stirling Castle this evening and seen this young woman for the first time. And yet something within him had refused to believe it was the first time. And speaking with her he felt that he had known her forever. And he instinctively knew that she felt exactly the same way.
Tom could feel the magic that surrounded the pair, and it startled him. What sorcery was this? he wondered, and yet there was nothing dark in it at all. But at the same time he could feel himself almost fading into the background as the intensity between them began to grow once more. “I will bid you both good night, then,” he said as they reentered the castle. Then he hurried back to the Great Hall to consider just what was happening. He needed to get away from his cousin and the Earl of Glenkirk if he were to think clearly, for the atmosphere surrounding them was simply too deep and too ardent. And it was most disquieting, as well!
“Do you reside within the castle?” Rosamund asked Patrick as they watched Tom disappear.
He nodded. “I have been given a chamber for myself, as I am a guest of his majesty,” he told her. “And you?”
“As the queen’s invited guest I have been given a chamber, as well, for myself and my servant Annie,” she told him.
“We will go to my hidey-hole, then, madame, as I have no servant to dispossess,” he told her. “If your Annie is seen spending the night in another place, there will be gossip. I am not of a mind to share what is between us at the moment. Are you?”
“Nay,” she agreed. “Whatever this magic is, I want to keep it for ourselves, Patrick. For the first time in my life I am being selfish, but I don’t care!” Then she slipped her hand back into his and followed him as he led her down several corridors and finally up a flight of stairs.
He opened an oak door, ushering her into a simple room with but two pieces of furniture: a bed and a stool. There was no fireplace, and the room was cold. There were wood shutters drawn across the single window, but no curtains. It was spare, but they were unlikely to be disturbed. He laid his cloak upon the stool, then gently unbuttoned the frogs fastening her outdoor garment, and, removing it, put it with his own. Taking her face in his hands he smiled down into her eyes. “This is not fine enough for you,” he told her. Then he found the candle and lit it, before closing the door behind them and turning the key in the lock.
“Kiss me,” she responded softly.
With a sigh he complied, his chill lips warming atop hers. Rosamund slid her arms about his neck, drawing him closer. Her full breasts pressed against the velvet that covered his chest. Their kisses blended one into another until her mouth ached. Finally she drew her head away from his, saying as she did, “I can but hope you are a good lady’s maid, my lord.”
He laughed softly. “It has been many years since I have undone such finery, Rosamund, but I hope I may remember,” Patrick told her. Then he turned her about and began to unlace her bodice while placing small kisses upon the back of her neck. She smelled fresh, and of a scent he recognized as white heather. He put the elegant little bodice atop the pile of cloaks. Next he unknotted the drawstring holding her skirt up and let the heavy material drop to the wood floor. Then he lifted her from the velvet heap, setting her back upon the floor. “Now, what is that thing you have fastened about you?” he demanded, puzzled. Rosamund giggled. “ ’Tis called a shakefold, and it is used to plump my skirts out in a fashionable manner,” she explained.
“It looks dangerous,” he said. “Can you get the damned thing off without me?”
She unfastened the shakefold and stepped from it, kicked it over to the stool, where her other garments were piled. Then she added her flannel petticoats.
“Sit on the edge of the bed, and I will remove your stocking for you,” he said.
Rosamund sat, watching him as he first removed each of her square-toed leather shoes and then set about unrolling her wool stockings. When her feet were finally free, she wiggled her toes in an attempt to get some warmth back into them.
“Get beneath the coverlet,” he said, and then he turned away to undress himself.
She watched him in the pale flickering light of the single candle. He had lived a half century, he had said, yet his body was hard and firm. He was obviously not a man who was idle or lazy. His buttocks were tight, and his hairy legs long. His back was broad, and he was very fair of skin. Entirely naked, he turned about to enter the bed, and she caught a glimpse of his manhood. At rest it was large, and she shivered with anticipation, then blushed with her own lustful thoughts. What was she doing here, in bed with a stranger? And yet it was right.
He drew her into his arms, his fingers undoing the ribbons that held her chemise closed. When the delicate fabric spread itself open, he looked upon Rosamund’s breasts, and then his dark head bent. He rubbed his face against the perfumed skin, gaining the most intense pleasure as he did so. She shivered and held his head against her bosom, enjoying the act every bit as much as he was.
“I have never…” she began.
“I know,” he said, understanding instinctively what she was trying to say. He raised his head to look into her face. “I have conceived little of what has happened between us tonight, Rosamund. All I know is that you and I are meant to be together like this. You are not one of the ladies of the court with their light morals. This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. There is yet time. If you wish to leave me now, you may go unimpeded.”
“I cannot,” she admitted. “I feel exactly as you do, though it be confusing to me.” Then she removed her chemise and let it fall to the floor. “I am a practical woman, Patrick, and have not garments to waste.”
He drew her back into his embrace so he might caress and fondle her lovely round breasts. He had never before seen such perfectly luscious spheres. Her skin was firm and silken to his touch. She sighed with her pleasure as his hands petted her tenderly. Singling out one breast, his head dropped. He rained kisses across her sentient flesh. His mouth fastened upon a taut nipple, and he began to suckle upon her eagerly.
Rosamund had always loved the touch of a man’s mouth on her breasts. She almost purred her contentment. How long had it been since she had lain in a man’s arms enjoying his attentions? It seemed like forever. Her fingers glanced over the nape of his neck. His hair was dark and just lightly sprinkled with silver. She entwined her hand into his locks, kneading his scalp with what became a growing urgency.
He raised his head, and his green eyes were glazed with his rising passion for her. He began to kiss her hungrily, their bodies twining and untwining with their lust. His mouth touched her throat, her shoulders, her chest. Their lips met and burned as they kissed seemingly without end. He could feel her heart beating wildly. The pulse at the base of her throat leapt like a netted salmon. His lips moved to her breasts again, then down her torso. Rosamund was making little mewling noises that alerted him to her pleasure. The white heather that scented her body warmed, growing stronger with her passion. It intoxicated him, and he could feel himself growing harder with his desire for her. He could not ever remember a time when he wanted a woman so very much.
“God help us!” she half-sobbed, and he understood her concern.
His fingers began to brush the curls on her mons. A single finger explored.
She whimpered softly, her thoughts jumbled. But then, for a moment her practical nature pushed to the fore,
