Bertrice Small - Until You

Patrick burst out laughing and reached into his doublet to draw out the flat white leather case. “Here, you vixen,” he said, handing it to her.

Rosamund struggled to maintain restraint. She looked at it, the fingers of one hand running over the soft leather. Finally she snapped the small catch and raised the lid. Her amber eyes grew round. “Oh, Patrick, it is beautiful!” she said, lifting the filigreed gold collar from its velvet nest, setting the box aside. “What are these tiny green gemstones? I have never seen any like them.”

“They are peridots,” he told her. “Their color matches the gown Celestina first showed us. There is a larger stone that can be mounted on a ribbon to be worn in the middle of your forehead. I should like to purchase it, but I wanted to be certain first that you like this.”

“Patrick, you are too good to me,” she told him.

“Has any other man ever given you jewelry?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Aye,” she said, and her lashes brushed her creamy cheek.

“Who?” he demanded, his tone jealous.

“My cousin Tom,” Rosamund laughed, unable to taunt him. “Tom, as you know, is an unusual gentleman. He has a passion for beautiful things and possesses a great deal of lovely jewelry. When we were in London, he gifted me with many lovely pieces, but none as beautiful as this collar, my lord.” Standing on tiptoes Rosamund kissed him. “Thank you, my darling!”

“Then I shall get the ribbon jewel?” he asked her.

“Would I be too greedy if I said yes?” she wondered aloud.

“No,” he told her, smiling down into her eyes. “It will suit you, and every minute of the duke’s fete I shall be jealous of all the men admiring you.”

“Oh, Patrick, you never have to be jealous over me,” Rosamund told him. “I love you as I have never loved any man! I knew nothing of love until that night our eyes met across the Great Hall at Stirling.”

“Did Logan Hepburn never attract your notice?” he pressed her.

“Aye, he did attract my notice. He is young and handsome and a very beast of a man. But I never loved him,” Rosamund said.

“I don’t know how it is possible you love me and not him,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Why have we met now, in the autumn of my years? And why are we both so duty bound to our families and lands? Sometimes I think I should like to run away from it all. But, of course, I won’t, and you won’t.”

“Nay, we shall both do our duty in the end, Patrick,” she replied. “But for now we have each other, and we have San Lorenzo. Do not speak on our parting again. It will come in its time, and we will know it. But not yet.”

He drew her back into his embrace, his arms tightening about her. He said nothing further, but his lips touched the top of her auburn head. How could they know each other so well on such brief acquaintance? He didn’t understand, but he also didn’t care. She was here, with him, and he loved her. It was all he needed to know for now. He smoothed her silken hair with his big hand, and she sighed contentedly.

***

The afternoon of the duke’s fete Celestina and Maria arrived with Rosamund’s gown.

“It cannot be the same garment!” Rosamund cried as she looked at the beautiful gown spread across the bed. There was an underskirt embroidered with gold thread in a design of leaping fish, shells, and sea horses. The bodice was sewn all over with pearls. The full sleeves were slashed to reveal delicate natural-colored lace sleeves beneath. The slashings were tied with gold cord. The pale green watered silk overskirt had been left plain, for in combination with the rest of the gown it needed no further artifice. “It is beautiful!” Rosamund said, looking to Celestina. “I cannot thank you enough!”

Celestina nodded. “You will have all the gentlemen clustering about you tonight, madame. It is a beautiful gown, and Patrizio will pay dearly for it,” she laughed with good humor. “I brought you shoes. Your Annie loaned me one of your boots to match for size. I hope they will not be too big.” She then produced from her voluminous apron pocket a pair of square-toed slippers covered with the same pale green watered silk as the gown and held them out for Rosamund to take.

Rosamund shook her head. “They are lovely, Celestina. And thanks to you, I will be suitably dressed for the fete.”

“I shall go and have something to eat with my father,” Celestina said. “Then, when you are ready to depart, I shall make certain that everything is in order.”

“Does she think I don’t know how to prepare you?” Annie said, just a little irritated by the seamstress’ attitude.

“She is an artist in her own right, Annie, and you will admit that this gown is one of the most beautiful gowns I have ever possessed,” Rosamund said.

Annie nodded her head in agreement. “Even Sir Thomas would approve of it, though the neckline still looks too low to me.”

“Have a bath prepared,” Rosamund instructed the servingwoman. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could fill my tub as easily as we empty it?”

Again Annie nodded. It was necessary to fill the brass-bound oak tub with bucket after bucket of water, but to empty it was a far simpler operation. At the bottom of the tub was a small flexible tube that fit into the side and was unrolled over the terrace’s edge. At the end of its length was a cork, which when removed allowed the tub to drain down onto the rocks below.

While the tub was being filled, Rosamund ate. She was given a dish of fluffy eggs and half of a sweet melon. Until she arrived in San Lorenzo she had never tasted melon. Now she insisted on having it every day. When the tub was filled and Annie had scented it with Rosamund’s favorite white heather fragrance, she arose from her table, carrying her goblet of sweet wine. Annie took the caftan from her mistress, and naked, Rosamund walked out onto the terrace, handing the goblet to her servant and climbing into her tub. Annie handed the goblet back when Rosamund was settled, then pinned her mistress’ hair up.

“Leave me for now, Annie. I will wash eventually, but for now I just want to enjoy sitting here in the sunshine and watching the blue sea.”

“You’ll want to siesta afterwards, my lady,” Annie said. “I’ll move your new gown from the bed and set it safely aside.” She turned and went back into the apartment.

Rosamund sipped her wine and stared down into the harbor of Arcobaleno. There was a most magnificent ship sailing majestically into the port. It had royal-purple-and-gold striped sails, and on its bow was a full-bosomed golden mermaid with scarlet tresses. Rosamund smiled. Obviously, some very important person was aboard such a gorgeous vessel.

“It’s bringing the artist, Paolo Loredano,” Patrick said as he joined her on the terrace.

“Perhaps the ship belongs to the doge himself,” Rosamund remarked.

“Or perhaps it belongs to Maestro Loredano himself,” the earl suggested. “He is famed for his portraits, as was his first master, Gentile Bellini. The duke is anxious to have him do portraits of himself and his family. Loredano, however, is very particular about whom he paints. He will not take just any commission offered, and has offended more than a few.”

“What is the duke like?” Rosamund asked.

“Older even than I am,” the earl teased her. “Of medium height, a bit corpulent from too-good living. His hair was once dark, but now it is gray. He will appear the good host and will go out of his way to charm you, but never forget that he is clever, he is ruthless, and he is a seducer.”

“Should I fear him, then?” she wondered.

“Nay,” he said. “You have treated with kings, Rosamund. Just use your own charm, and remember he is but a duke,” Patrick said.

“I will remember,” she told him. “Do you want to share my tub, my lord?”

He smiled a slow smile. “I have been waiting for you to ask, my darling,” he said.

After stripping his clothing off where he stood, Patrick climbed into the great tub with her. She offered him a sip of her wine, which he accepted. Then, setting the goblet aside on the tub’s edge, she took up the flannel cloth, rubbed her soap over it, and began to bathe him herself.

“They say in earlier days, the lady of the castle and her serving girls always washed important guests,” Rosamund told him. “They do not say if she got into the tub with her guests, however.” She gently washed his face, saying as she did, “You must have Dermid shave you again before tonight. I can already see the shadow on your jaw, my lord.” She kissed his mouth quickly.

He yanked her hard against him, and she felt his manhood pressing with some urgency against her thigh. His eyes blazed down into hers. His mouth fused itself against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth to play with hers. Her full breasts were flattened against his broad chest. He held her face between his two hands while he continued to kiss her, his passions rising even as he felt her passions rise. “I do not believe,” he said in a hard voice, “that I have ever fucked you in our tub, Rosamund, but I am about to do it now,” he growled, His hands plunged beneath the warm water, and pressing her back against the side of the tub, he lifted her up, impaling her on his hardness. “Ahh, my love,” he groaned. She was tight and hot.

Rosamund’s eyes closed with her pleasure as she slid her arms about his neck. He filled her with his passion, and her head fell onto his shoulder as he loved her until their combined desire burst, leaving them both weak but sated. “I adore you, Patrick Leslie,” she said softly in his ear. “I shall never love another as I love you.”

His tongue licked at her face, her throat, her chest and shoulder as he stood, his manhood still hard and deep within her. “You consume me,” he groaned softly. “I cannot get enough of your sweetness, Rosamund.”

She entwined her legs about him, enabling him to press farther, and he groaned again. “I want to soar,” she whispered in his ear, and she licked at the curled flesh.

Their bodies tightly locked together, he began to thrust and withdraw until they were both dizzy with the rapture their enthusiasm in each other gave them. The intensity of their mutual desire was intoxicating, and as their carnality overcame them, they both cried out, finally satisfied, if only briefly. Her arms still about his neck, her legs fell away from his firm body.

“If I let go of you,” she said, “I shall drown here, for my limbs are as weak as a newborn’s, Patrick.”

He laughed softly. “You are an outrageous woman, Rosamund. I have never known anyone like you, nor do I expect I ever will.”

“We have to get out of this water,” she told him, but she still clung to him.

“Did you enjoy our little water sport?” he teased her.

“Aye,” she murmured, and then, to his delight, she blushed. “I never considered making the beast with two backs in water, Patrick.”

“But you liked it?” His gaze caressed her face.

“I did! It was most stimulating. I do not believe I have ever been made love to other than in a bed,” she admitted.

“One day I shall take you in a stable on a pile of sweet-smelling hay,” he promised her, and he laughed. “Or perhaps I shall catch you in a linen cupboard, my love.”

“I think I am feeling stronger now,” Rosamund answered him. It was said that the older men grew the less well they performed in bed. But, Rosamund thought, she had had a husband considered an older man and a young lover in King Henry, but neither of these men had made love to her with such unflagging enthusiasm or suggested such a variety of passion as did Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. She let go of him now and climbed from the tub. The water sluiced down her lush form as she reached for the drying cloth.

He watched her appreciatively until, finally satisfied, she invited him from their bath, and standing naked in the sunshine, began to dry him off.

“Be careful, madame, lest you arouse my baser nature again,” he warned her.

“Oh, no!” she scolded him, laughing. “I do not intend to go to the duke’s fete tonight, meeting the man for the first time, with the scent of lust hanging about me, Patrick. You will behave yourself, for you shall not have me again until after the fete. Your head must be clear, my lord, for it is likely you will meet one or both of your contacts tonight.”

“And it does not disturb you that Scotland will attempt to undo Henry Tudor’s ambitions?” he asked her, as he had on several occasions.

“I have told you, Patrick, that I do not consider trying to stop a war treasonous to England. Hal might, for anything interfering with his plans is anathema to him, but no reasonable man or woman would. Do what you must. If you Scots come over the border, it is my home that will be in danger first, not Henry Tudor’s,” Rosamund said.