Bertrice Small - Until You

“And where am I to rest my head this night?” the earl demanded.

“Why, in your own chamber, my lord,” Rosamund replied with a mischievous smile. “I have told Annie that anticipation but stimulates desire. We shall see just how much, my lord, eh?” And she laughed softly.

His green eyes narrowed. “Madame, you try my patience with your indulgence of our servants. They are a lusty, naughty pair who do not deserve your kindness. But I, who adore you, do deserve it. Am I to be denied my rights because of our servants?”

“When,” Rosamund teased him, “did the time of day ever matter to you, Patrick Leslie? You are a far lustier devil than your servingman, but perhaps I am beginning to tire you out.” Her amber eyes were bright with anticipation.

“I think, madame,” he said slowly, “that your behavior is in need of some correction.” He made a move towards her.

Rosamund edged away from him, putting the table between them. “Is it?” she taunted. “And are you man enough to deliver me that correction, my lord?”

His eyes narrowed again at her challenge. “I am, madame. I think that your round little bottom must be spanked until you admit your fault to me.” He leapt forward, turning the table aside as he did so.

With a little shriek of surprise Rosamund fled him, now putting a chair between them. “You are slow, my lord.”

“And you, madame, too confident.” He strode towards her, backing her and the chair into a corner of the room. And when he had put her there he smiled wickedly and said, “Now what, madame? You have no route of escape from your punishment now.”

Wide-eyed, she could but watch as he yanked the chair away. She attempted to dart beneath his arm and escape, but he caught her, and sitting down on that same chair, he pulled her down over his knees. “Now, madame,” he said in menacing tones as he deliberately and carefully lifted her skirts up to bare her round little bottom, “you will be spanked.” His hand came down on her buttocks with a satisfying smack.

“Ohhh!” Rosamund cried. A second blow descended, and she asked him, “Is that the best you can do, my lord?” Her ridicule, she quickly discovered, was a mistake, and her flesh was soon tingling and distinctly warm with his punishment.

“Say you are sorry for mocking me!” he growled.

“What will you give me if I do?” she asked from her rather ignominious position across his broad lap.

He laughed, and a hand slipped beneath her to forage between her nether lips. She was very wet, and he smiled. “Your punishment, Rosamund, has been every bit as effective for me as it has been for you.” His hand descended thrice more on her hapless bottom. “Are you sorry yet?” he inquired softly.

“Yes,” she exclaimed. She was hungry to have him within her and amazed that the spanking he had given her had resulted in such white-hot lust.

He set her on his feet, fumbling with his clothing, and seeing his lover’s lance free at last, Rosamund sat upon it, her back to him. He unlaced her bodice, then pushed aside the swath of her auburn hair from her neck. His hands cupped her breasts, and he pinched the nipples even as he fondled the twin globes of her bosom. His lips brushed her nape, and then his teeth sank into her graceful neck, and he groaned as she rode him with an expertise that always astounded him. “Witch,” he whispered in her ear, his tongue licking at the curl of perfumed flesh.

“Devil!” she hissed back, her body arching as she strove to force him deeper into the heat of her eager body. She ground her buttocks, still hot with her punishment, into his body. He filled her full, and her head began to spin while she once again wondered why it was this man who could love her so completely, and none before him. She felt no disloyalty to Owein. They had loved each other and been loyal to each other; but no man until Patrick had ever given her the supreme pleasure she was now experiencing. “Oh, sweet Mother Mary!” she gasped. “Oh, Patrick! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” She shuddered with the pleasure coursing like boiling honey through her veins. “Ahhh! Ahhh!” She shuddered again, feeling his passionate tribute flooding her body. “Ahhh, Patrick!” And she collapsed against him.

“Rosamund! Rosamund!” he groaned in her ear, his breath hot and moist. “There has never been a woman like you, I’ll vow! If I died in the next minute I should be content, my darling.” He pressed a kiss against her nape, his warm lips lingering as he breathed in the familiar scent of her. “I love you. I shall always love you!”

Rosamund sighed, but she was not yet ready to open her eyes. She relaxed against his broad chest, his manhood still within her. “I shall never love another as I love you, Patrick,” she told him.

His hand tenderly fondled her breast for a few moments, and then he said, “We cannot be found like this, my darling. Can you arise from me now?”

Rosamund stood on shaky legs and breathed in several deep breaths. She drew her skirts down, brushing away the wrinkles. “You must rearrange yourself, my lord, if we are not to shock our two lusty servants.” She smiled when she said it, noting that his manhood had not lessened greatly in size. “You are very randy today.”

“And did you enjoy being spanked, sweetheart?” The green eyes twinkled.

“I did,” she admitted. “It seemed to add a fillip of excitement to our passion.” Then she blushed with the admission.

He chuckled. “I could not resist,” he said softly. “Your taunts were most exciting, my darling.”

“I should not like you to spank me often,” she told him. “Your hand is hard, I fear. My poor bottom is still tingling.”

“Lovers sometimes play games, Rosamund. But it is not necessary to play them all the time,” he explained.

“Mayhap one day you will spank me again,” she said with a sly smile.

“One day when the occasion calls for it,” he agreed.

“I promise to be very good for now, my lord,” she said sweetly.

“I am glad for it,” he replied, grinning, “although I will admit you have the most fetchingly rounded little bottom, my darling.”

“It compares well with other bottoms you have spanked?” she asked innocently.

“Rosamund!” And then he laughed. “Extremely well,” he admitted.

“I wish we never had to go home,” she suddenly burst out.

Patrick took her into his arms. “But we do. Not for a while, but eventually, my darling. I know you want to be at Friarsgate again, and I promise I will take you there myself and remain with you for as long as I can. Now, be happy, my love, for we are together now, and no matter what happens we shall always love each other, Rosamund. Always!”

Annie and Dermid were married on a warm and sunny March day. It was a tale, they both agreed, that they would one day tell their children, of how they were wed by a bishop in a great stone cathedral with stained-glass windows before the Lady’s altar. It was an auspicious occasion for such a humble pair. And afterwards the Earl of Glenkirk and Rosamund escorted them to a small inn, where they shared wine with the newly wed couple. And when the toast had been made and the sweet vintage drunk, the earl told them that he had asked the innkeeper for his finest room. Dermid and Annie would remain the night. The innkeeper was paid for the room and for a good supper to be served in a private salon. Then Patrick and Rosamund left their two servants to enjoy their first day of married life together-alone.

When they returned to the villa, Lord MacDuff was waiting for them. “I have a message from his majesty, just arrived within the hour,” he said. “You are instructed to leave San Lorenzo on the first of April, but you are to travel overland again to Paris, where you will have an audience with King Louis and reassure him in the strongest terms that Scotland will not break the auld alliance.” He handed Patrick a sealed packet. “For you,” he told the earl.

“Thank you,” Patrick said, opening the message.

“So, your servants are successfully wed,” MacDuff said to Rosamund.

“By the bishop himself,” she replied with a smile. “And not a moment too soon, I suspect. They are both very young and filled with the juices of their youth.”

“You are a very kind mistress,” MacDuff said. “Many a woman would have beaten her servant for such behavior and sent her away.”

“Annie and Dermid are both good servants, my lord,” Rosamund responded. “They simply needed to be guided into the proper path.”

“Will you go back to court?” the ambassador asked her candidly.

“I promised the queen I would,” Rosamund said. “I do not break my word once given, my lord. While I miss Friarsgate and my daughters, I owe Margaret Tudor that small allegiance. She was a good friend to me when I was at her father’s court as a young girl. She was responsible for my happy marriage. She is so desperate to give her husband a healthy son, and while I expect the child will be born by the time we return, I would congratulate her and encourage her in her motherhood. The king’s lang eey saw that she would indeed have a healthy son, but until that wee laddie rests safely in his mother’s arms, and she is certain of his health, she will fret. Queens have few friends, my lord, but I am Queen Margaret’s true friend.”

Ian MacDuff nodded. “Aye,” he agreed. “Friendship is a rare commodity for those who rule, lassie. I admire your ethics as well as your good sense. They are not qualities a man usually admires in a woman.” He grinned at her. “I also admire your beauty, however, and knowing you these past few weeks, I think I am now envious of my old friend Patrick Leslie.”

“My lord, are you flirting with me?” Rosamund gently teased him.

“It has been a long time, lassie, but I believe I am,” he admitted.

“Well, cease, you old dog,” the earl said, slipping an arm about Rosamund’s waist. “The lady is mine, and I will cede her to no one.”

“What does the king say to you, or should you not share it?” Ian MacDuff asked.

“ ’Tis little more than what you have told me,” Patrick replied. “He wants me to tell King Louis of my attempts here in San Lorenzo. Is the messenger still here? I would send a communiquй with him. He is one of our people?”

“Aye, he’s a Scot. He purports to be a factotum for an Edinburgh guild of merchants, but of course he is not. ’Tis just a pose he affects to divert attention from his travels. He’s come here before,” Ian MacDuff said. “He’ll remain the night, as he usually does. Then we’ll send him back mounted on a fresh horse.”

The earl nodded. “Send him to my apartment and I will give him his instructions.”

Patrick wrote to James Stewart in detail of what had transpired between him, Venice, and the Holy Roman Empire. He had previously sent pigeons with the simple words, Venice, nay. Max, nay. Now he filled in the details of his conversations with Paolo Loredano, the doge’s representative, and Baroness Von Kreutzenkampe, who was Emperor Maximilian’s emissary. The earl’s memory was a flawless one, and always had been. He recalled his conversations with both the artist and the baroness. The king would see it all as if he had been there himself. The earl apologized for his inability to change what was happening, but at least, he wrote the king, he had put a strong suspicion of Henry Tudor in both Venice and the Holy Roman Empire’s consciousness. They would now be suspicious of England, and act accordingly.

“You are to go directly to the king, wherever he may be when you arrive in Scotland,” Patrick instructed the messenger. “And you are to deliver this message only into his hands. No secretary or page. The king’s hands. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” the messenger said.

“And you will tell his majesty that we will follow his instructions regarding our return. We should reach him by early June.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Patrick handed the messenger a second packet, along with a small bag of jingling coins. “And when you have seen the king, I would have you ride to Glenkirk for me and give my son, Adam Leslie, this. Tell him I am well.”

“Yes, my lord, thank you. Glenkirk is in the northeast, is it not?”

“It is. You will find it,” Patrick told the man. “And I thank you for your service.”

“What did you write to Adam?” Rosamund asked her lover when the messenger had departed.

“That Glenkirk was to remain in his care for a while longer, for I choose to visit a friend in England before I return home,” the earl said.

“San Lorenzo has been like a marvelous dream, and now to know I am to see Paris,” Rosamund replied. Then she laughed. “I have never before enjoyed travel or being away from Friarsgate, but when I am with you, my darling, I do not care.”